


And Here We Are

by MultiFandomGirl



Category: Supernatural, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiFandomGirl/pseuds/MultiFandomGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Elena AU from around TVD episode 15 season four, Supernatural end of season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snacks and Snark

  **The mahogany thing is actually the most subtle shout out to the Hunger Game fans that I could muster. Have fun reading!**

********

“Hurry it up!” A booming voice called out into the room. 

“Hold your horses, Satan Slayer; I'm coming!” Came the witty feminine reply, her tone laced with derision.

Elena Gilbert huffed as she stomped out of the luxurious bathroom of one of the most esteemed hotels in New York City, her hair tied up in its own white towel, steam trailing behind her. Dean Winchester was waiting in the lounging area, enjoying the complementary meal of delicacies the hotel had sent up only thirty minutes ago, green eyes dancing with the simple glee he found in the prospect of small finger foods.

“And feet off the table!” She demanded as she rounded the corner to see him sprawled lazily across the expanse of the pure white sofa, his dirt-caked combat boots resting comfortably on the no doubt carefully polished _mahogany_ coffee table in front of him.

“Aw, why do you care?” he whined, his mouth stuffed with the last bite of a mini roast beef sandwich. “I thought you didn't care about anything!”

“ _People_. I don't care about _people_.” Her tone was clipped and exasperated, as if she'd told him this many times and he just ceased to listen. He could hear her wet hair (now released from the towel) slap against her skin, and imagined the annoyed hair flip she would have just performed.

“Oh, but you care about wood?” His tone was exasperated and dripping with sarcasm. 

“Yes, among other _material_ things.”

“Ugh, God. I can't with you.”

“I know.” She smirked teasingly, picking up two blouses by their hangers and swinging them back and forth. “Which do you think?” she asked, watching as Dean turned around to look at her over the back of the sofa. Her damp dark hair was drying in curls against her towel covered back, her tanned thigh peeking out in one spot the small towel didn't quite cover. Not that Dean  _should_ be noticing things such as that. 

“Red or black?" she continued, snapping him back to the subject at hand. "Personally, I like both; one's the color of blood, the other is the color of my soul..." At this, Dean rolled his eyes skyward.

"But the real question here is," she went on. "which would go better with my new jeans?” Elena gave him a semi-fake pretentious look, inclining her head to the side impatiently.

“Why do you always have to be so dressy? We're going on a hunt for fuck's sake, not the dining room of this expensive ass hotel you _insisted_ on staying in!”

“Language, Dean!” She chided playfully, picking up a black T-shirt from the pile of clothes she had laid out. It read “ _Nerd? I Prefer The Term “Intellectual Badass_ ”' in white italic letters.

“Of course, that would imply being a badass on all fronts, which I _am_ so, accurate enough, I think.” She gloated giddily, before discarding the piece of clothing with a delicate curl of her lip.

Dean scoffed. “Whatever, Elena. Just get your cocky ass out the door; we have to go.”

 “Alright, touchy.” she sighed, letting her towel drop. Pointedly avoiding looking up or anywhere _near_ Elena's special parts, Dean's eyes followed the towel closely as it pooled in an almost circle around her feet, the nails of which matched the french tips tastefully decorating her fingers. He watched as those feet moved out of his line of sight and over toward the built in dresser, where she had presumably stored her...delicates in the two weeks she'd been staying there. He heard the snap of fabric against skin as she put on and adjusted her bra and, still watching her feet, saw as she slipped the simple black cotton panties up her legs.

“I think it's safe for you to look up now,” she almost purred, pulling a black, skin tight tank top over her head, and then pulling a light, red plaid cardigan over it. She wiggled into a pair of, of course, _black_ jeans, that were stylishly ripped in various places from her thighs to her calves.

Dean gulped subtly, looking up. She looked good. She looked like she belonged. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“You cannot stop me from wearing my new boots.” she commanded, brown eyes sparkling prettily at him. She plopped onto the edge of the white sofa, beginning to roll long, black socks up her legs. 

“Why are you wearing, like, tights?” he asked, not knowing what else to call them.

Elena made a sound somewhere between an exasperated groan and a patronizing laugh. “Just thin socks, Dean." She corrected him, not missing a beat. She rapidly ran a hairbrush through her still wet hair a few times before tossing it into her bag. 

After tying the long laces of her boots, she grabbed her suitcases and threw her large purse over her shoulder and was at the door faster than he could blink. Dean quickly grabbed a small plate from the stack on the table, loading it with brownies, sandwiches, cookies, and other various foods.

“Hey!” he called after her, somewhat urgently, holding the plate protectively to his chest. “Do you think you could fit one or two of these pies in your purse?”

“Oh, for God's sake, Dean, weren't you the one hurrying me? No! Get your ass out of there.”

Taking one last longing look at the beautifully decorated pies on the table, he grunted before hurrying after Elena, and closing the regal door after him with a click that somehow rang in unison with his annoyance.


	2. Unexpected Displays of Kindness...And Pie

“So, what do we have...?” mumbled Elena as she shuffled through the papers Dean had handed her. The passenger seat of the Impala was familiar and comfortable, and she at one point propped her feet up on the dashboard to get back at Dean for his defiance in the hotel room; it was definitely worth it, depending on the way he looked like he might have an early on-set stroke and how his voice turned comically high pitched as he screeched at her.

Now, about fifteen minutes later, his eyes would still occasionally flick over to her feet, checking that they were firmly planted on the floor of the car. She continued in an almost bored voice, like it was all irrelevant.“Ghost, zombie, shape-shifter...vampire?” Dean swore he saw her fangs flash behind her lips as she threw him a prize-winning smirk, and he almost shivered with mere instinctive revulsion.

“Maybe that's why I handed you the info, huh? So you could help figure that out?" He sounded as annoyed as he felt, but trained his eyes back on the road. Elena could have sworn on her mother's grave that he was, in fact, _pouting_.

“Oh, Christ.” She hissed under her breath.

Reaching into the back of the car, she heaved her large shoulder bag over the driver's seat, purposefully knocking Dean in the head with it. “Hey, watch it, will you?! Tryin' to drive here!” Dean said irritably as she shuffled through her bag. With a triumphant sound and a jerk of her arm, Elena pulled something out of the bottom of her bag, throwing the bag itself unceremoniously back into the backseat.

“Here's your friggin' pie, okay? Can we stop pouting like a three year old now?” She practically yelled, shoving the still-perfect pie in his direction. Dean's face, which had still been focused on the windshield, lit up with excitement and maybe a tad bit of gratitude towards the brown-eyed vampire. Looking over, he saw that it was also carefully packaged in a clear to-go container, and he could tell whoever packaged it had been careful not to smudge all the decorative toppings.

“You brought one for me?” He managed to ask, dumbfounded. Because like they'd stated at the hotel, Elena didn't care, especially this much, for anyone. Right?

Dean noticed that she was uncomfortably (which was an emotion he rarely got to see concerning Elena) avoiding his eyes, looking down into her denim clad lap. “There's more where that came from. And if you stop being such an asshat and actually work on the case, maybe do some research, you might just get another one, and maybe a mini quiche if you're lucky.”

Trying not to laugh at her use of the word “asshat”, he nodded. He knew they were both not ones for sentimental chick-flick moments, and so he gratefully left her kind gesture at that, reverting back to the case at hand.

“So, uh, guy and his girlfriend are violently murdered; no signs of forced entry, friends seem pretty broken up about it.” His voice sets into the routine cadence of the hunt quickly.

“So, what's so unusual about that? I don't know if you remember or not Dean, but humans are more than capable of brutal murdering, too. What makes you think this is a case?” She looks annoyed now, as if he's wasted her time for nothing.

“Don't get your panties in a wad just yet! Here's the plot twist; the guy, uh,” he glances over at the newspaper in her hand. “Kyle Manters; no family at all. All murdered when he was a kid. And guess what?”

“They were all murdered in the exact same way he was.” It wasn't a question.

He could hear her unspoken snap of,  _Little fucking psycho_ _bastard. Why couldn't he just appreciate what he had?_  

“Broken ribs, teeth ripped out, guts spilled on the floor.” Her face was grim, more disgusted than sympathetic.

Dean nodded, having expected her to catch on quickly. She sighed. “So, Mommy, Daddy, and everyone else Kyle filleted are back for revenge, but I assume now they're going for anyone and everyone this guy ever associated with?”

“Yup. We gotta get there, find the bones, and burn 'em nice and crispy before they do any more damage.”

A few minutes passed in silence, before Elena realized something, and looked up with a half smile on her face. “You _actually_ did some research. Maybe I'll give you that quiche just for kicks.” Dean snorted disdainfully, but she could see the smirk threatening to take over his features.

“Ah, it's good to be back.” Elena sighed, rolling down the window of the Impala and resting her now bare feet gently on the side mirror outside the car. Dean didn't have much of a problem with that. She reached over to turn up the volume on Nirvana's _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ , and started singing along as the wind blew over her toes, and for just a few moments, as Dean reluctantly joined in, she felt really, truly good.


	3. When I Was Younger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later

_When I was younger,_

_I told my mother,_

_I said, "one day I'm gonna make you proud"_

_Now that I'm older,_

_It's so much harder to say those words_

_Out loud..._

  

 Dean Winchester blew out a small sigh, knowing he wouldn't wake the sleeping vampire in the passenger seat. She'd somehow convinced him to give her some-to-all control of the radio sometime before she fell asleep, and now one of the stations she secretly liked that only played sappy and melancholic music was left on. He happened to like the last three songs that had been played, or at least wasn't disgusted by them, so he decided to leave it on for now.

 

Dean had known Elena for a very long time; they had met when John and Grayson had decided to have a little reconciliation, years ago. Elena had been fourteen years old and far too mature for her age, while Dean was twenty-two and had, not surprisingly, failed to grow up yet. They'd grudgingly been in each others' general vicinity, seeing as Elena had had an oddly placed distaste for his rebellious, sarcastic personality, and Dean had not liked her much at all, placed mainly on the fact that she was a slightly pretentious fourteen year old kid who seemed to already have life and the universe itself figured out better than even he did.

 

Though, over the course of a few visits, with Sam staying at Bobby's and no one else to talk to, they'd grown respectively friendlier toward each other, revealing that they were more like the other than first met the eye, and by around the fifth or sixth visit, they found themselves sitting over on the Gilbert's offensively colored couch, mocking their fathers' serious conversations with over-exaggerated gestures and voices while kicking back and watching sitcom re-runs. Elena had been astounded that Dean hadn't watched, or even heard of, most of the ones playing continuously on the television and had forced him to watch a few episodes of _Seinfeld,_ which she said was one of her favorites, running a close second to a show called _Friends,_ which she made him sit through five episodes of. He'd been a little surprised at how little he minded hanging out with Elena The Completely Ridiculous Baby-Teen, though, really, she had him wrapped around her fingers, like Dean expected was her affect on everyone she had known more than five minutes. The only thing that made it work on Dean, though, was that he knew that nothing of Elena was an act, which made it all the more hard to resist giving her whatever she wanted when she batted her big brown eyes at him like that.

 

She hadn't known anything about hunting then. He had wished she would never have to, but he knew trying to ignore the truth just made it easier for the lies to slip right through the cracks.

 

They hadn't really seen each other much after Elena's sixteenth birthday, life letting them drift apart. And hadn't Dean been surprised when he came by for a sentimental visit, sometime when she was supposed to be enjoying her newly eighteen year old life, to find that she would never turn a year older than she was now. It had taken quite a bit of convincing from her and Jeremy, who told him _everything,_ from the vampire brothers and doppelgangers, all the way up to the blood sacrifices and eventual death of each and every one of their family members; but Dean had eventually come to understand that Elena hadn't just needlessly and tragically been turned into a soulless monster; she was still her, and he trusted her even more now than he had when he'd been reluctant allies with her years ago. He'd never even had the initial thought that she was nothing but a monster, had never needed to be told to _not_ go chop her head off, had never even retrieved the machete from the trunk of the Impala. He'd only wanted to help. And if that was too unusual for a hunter's mind-set, he didn't think about it.

 

So he'd left, hunting again with Sammy, who knew about Elena's existence, yes, but knew nothing of _her,_ or of her close friendship with Dean, though Dean knew he must suspect something after Dean's non-reaction reaction to her sudden vampirism. They'd all agreed that the Salvatores probably shouldn't know of the hunters' existence in Elena's life, or Dean's visit, since, as Elena had put it, they were “very...protective” of her. So they'd hit the road again with a kiss on the cheek from Elena and a “later man” from Jeremy.

 

But then things got darker; her emotions were heightened, and life punched her in the stomach again, but this time, it was too much. Jeremy died, and slowly, she started to change; she didn't feel much of anything, she didn't care what anyone had to say about her anymore. She started to go out and get drunk, or stay home and get drunk. By the next time Dean came by six months later and found her at the bar of the Mystic Grill, she was well on her way to passing the Bobby Singer “How to Be An Old Drunk” exam with a straight one hundred.

 

Hell, the only reason he even knew really anything at all about her lately was because he'd gotten her drunk off her ass just enough to coax it out of her slurring mouth one night in some desolate bar in Minnesota. Looking over at her sleeping body now, he knew how far she'd come in her short eighteen years, and how far _they_ had come. Her humanity was showing more and more lately, and besides, he had known it wasn't gone in the first place; Elena Gilbert couldn't just do that. Sure, she could become callous and jaded and maybe even weary of the world, but she couldn't snap her fingers and banish the actual essence of her soul; she was too strong to be that weak. And even if it wasn't glaringly obvious to him that she was still herself through and through, (though maybe just a bit faded) he couldn't have denied that she fucking deserved it. After all her losses and all the strain life had pushed on her, she deserved to let loose, and God forbid he ever thought this...he didn't really blame her for killing a few innocents along the way. Maybe it was because it was Elena, or possibly because his father wasn't there anymore to breathe down his neck and shove his own morals down Dean's throat, but he didn't. After losing Sam, how could he? Dean knew there had been countless times throughout the collective tragedy that was his life where he damn near turned off  _his_ emotions, and being human made it that much harder to do. He'd gone crazy and thrown stuff and had wanted to kill a few innocent people himself, if only to quell the screaming emotions swirling around inside him like a hurricane. So yeah, he got where she was coming from. 

 

Thankfully, though, ever since she had been with him, Elena had taken more to killing demons and monsters more so than she did humans. He guessed it was a way to feel both productive _and_ destructive, to satisfy both sides of her cravings. Of course, she still participated in what she had told him was called “snatch, eat, erase”. He'd been adamant the first few times that he had to come with her when she hunted, to make sure she kept to her word. She'd shrugged and led him to a night club, pumping with music and lights, and he thought, for her, also the sound of blood rushing through veins. He'd simultaneously grimaced and flinched as he'd _heard_ the skin of her victim crack, and noticing his reaction, as she always did, she had staunchly defended that it was “better than the alternative”. When he'd pointed out later that blood bags were also an alternative, she had been the one to grimace, proclaiming with esteem that she would ingest nothing that wasn't “straight from the tap” and at least 98.6 degrees, and that was that. Since then, he had asked to _not_ go on her hunts, or at least stay inside while she took her victim out in some dingy side alley to feed. He was confident she hadn't killed them only when he saw said victim (or victim _s,_ depending on how wild she was getting that night) walk back through the door looking dazed and sated. Then he would finish up his drink and meet Elena back where he knew she was, in the Impala in the parking lot, and they'd pick back up with whatever case they'd been working on without so much as a hitch.

 

It was odd, he thought, as he came back to the present and finally switched the radio to something more his style, shivering slightly at the cold wind sweeping in through Elena's rolled down window and over his arms. It was odd that this girl – vampire, he corrected with an inward eye roll – could bend his hunter morals so easily just by existing. And it was irritating, too.

 

He was jolted out of his thoughts suddenly when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket; his personal phone, so it probably wasn't another job. He flipped it open, sparing a glance at the vampire still conked out in his passenger seat. Her mouth was slightly open. _She better not drool on my baby,_ he thought automatically, even while he found it a comfortingly human gesture, and maybe something else that he didn't want to address now. “Yeah?” he whispered into the phone, knowing with her freaky-deeky hearing that it barely mattered whether he whispered or yelled.

 

A cautious sigh came over the line. “Hey, Dean...”

 

“Sam?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently, chapters seem way longer before I post them online, so sorry about that; I tried to make this one a little longer. I hope you liked it; please leave me reviews, they make me update a lot faster!


	4. Sam Is Back

The Impala jerked to a violent stop at the curb of the deserted road, and Dean's heart was beating wildly in his chest; Elena could hear it loud and clear. His eyebrows were pulled down and together and his eyes showed confusion, tragedy, and some type of wild hope. He didn't look like Stefan did when he was brooding; (which was practically always). Instead, the look reminded her startlingly of Damon. She felt a twinge of something somewhere deep in her chest, and pushed it impatiently away. Now wasn't the time to think about her past.

  
“So, what you're saying is...Sam is _alive_?”

“Yeah, that's what I said.” he snapped back, far too emotional himself to care whether or not he hurt feelings.

“Is that even possible? I mean, yeah, sure, _you_ came back from Hell, but didn't your angel BFF drag you out of there?” She continued before he could speak, “And from what I've gathered, Sam was in a fucking _cage_ in the pits of _Hell_ with damn _Lucifer._ I mean, Dean, prepare yourself.” To be honest, she wasn't sure why she was even talking, why she cared. Hell, she wasn't sure why she'd jumped in his car on his way out of Virginia instead of taking off and doing her own thing, you know, _away_ from the supernatural hunters, where she could kill whenever she wanted. Maybe it was a sentimental thing, she really didn't know.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a rumbling engine interrupted him. Looking through the windshield, they saw a newer version black Jaguar pull up in front of the Impala, the windows tinted. Elena scoffed. “We got ourselves a mobster?” she asked, but Dean didn't respond, staring ahead with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression.

The Jaguar's door opened as the engine was turned off, and the biggest man Elena had ever seen ambled coolly out. He looked to be well over six feet tall with a wide, muscular build. A pair of Ray Bans covered his eyes, but he slid them back to hold his ridiculously long hair away from the slight breeze. “By God!” she exclaimed dramatically. “He's not a mobster, he's a _moose!_ ”

Dean was still staring as Sam started making his way toward the car. Elena turned to him. “Dean,” she said chidingly. “You never told me you were related to a member of the animal kingdom. I would've been fine with it.” She shrugged as he completely ignored her, jumping out of the car and hurrying toward his brother. She watched as they did exactly what was expected; hugged it out, tested each other with holy water and silver and whatever else they had. Only a few tears were shed, from Dean. Elena remembered distantly that she used to greatly admire a man who wasn't afraid to cry, but again, as she did with most of them, she pushed the feeling down, down, down, where it couldn't possibly be used against her.

She decided then was the time to make her grand entrance, and she stepped out of the car with as much bravado as she could exaggerate into the movement. “A family reunion,” she called out. “and I wasn't invited? I'm hurt, guys.” She mimicked a wounded tone, but she was grinning. Dean sighed, while Sam squinted at her in suspicion.

Dean looked from his brother to Elena and back again, then blew out a somewhat anxious breath. “Um, Sammy, this is-you've heard of her-she's, well, she's kind of, um...” Elena rolled her eyes and looked to Sam as if to say 'What a tool, amiright?'

“I'm Elena.” She said, smiling. “Elena Gilbert.” Her eyes looked so warm in that moment and her smile was so genuine that Dean could easily see who she was under all her bravado and general lack of emotion. He saw the girl who had struggled to hang on through the chaotic whirlwind of loss and heartbreak, whose presence now was so sporadic and fleeting; Dean felt like she was as fragile as glass in these moments of emotion, like if he spoke too harshly or breathed too loud, she would shatter and the wall would go back up and never come down again.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said with a twitch of lips that was more like a smirk than a smile. He glanced at Dean in a way he must've thought was subtle. “Dean's...mentioned you.” Dean gave him a somewhat annoyed, somewhat questioning look, noting that he'd have to find out later why there was such a heavy teasing note in his brother's voice.

Elena smirked back, though Dean could read the accompanying confusion in her eyes. “Oh, has he now? Nothing too bad, I hope.” Just as Sam started to shake his head, Elena continued on, making him freeze in his movements.

“...Like, say, the fact that I'm a blood-sucking vampire?” Her grin was quick and excited, and Dean internally groaned in anticipation of a fight between a hell-hardened Sam and an emotionless-vampire Elena who just seemed to be _begging_ for conflict.

The sound of Sam's teeth grinding together was practically audible over the distant chortle of the Impala's engine. His head snapped around to Dean in such a way that he almost flinched.

“No,” Sam said stiffly. “No, Dean hadn't mentioned that.”

 _Oops,_ he thought, tossing another nervous glance towards his brother.

Sam's level of hostility surprised Dean a bit, seeing as Sam had always been the more likely of the two to sympathize with monsters. Hell, Sam had saved the _monsters_ from _Dean_ before.

“Look, Sam, this can be explained very easily, okay? Just hear us out.” Sam's eyes widened, his lips pressing into a straight line. Dean recognized the facial expression that meant he wasn't in the mood to listen. Dean sighed, knowing where this was going.

He jerked his head at his brother in a way that said to stay put and not try anything, walking slowly toward where Elena stood, silent now, leaning against the hood of the Impala. He narrowed his eyes at her in a halfhearted glare.

“ _What?_ ” she hissed, catching his eyes. “It had to come out some time. Forgive me for speeding up the process.”

“I know, I know.” he whispered back, glancing over his shoulder where Sam stood, glaring. He winced slightly before turning back to the vampire. “Look, you and Baby just head back to the hotel, I'll talk to Sam. You remember the way back?” He asked, pressing the keys trustingly into her hands.

Elena nodded, rolling her eyes at either his overly affectionate name for his car, or the fact that he doubted her being able to find her way back to a hotel barely fifteen miles back. “Good.” he clipped out, immediately turning back around to deal with Sam.

_No, no, no, Elena, don't do it. It's stupid and awkward and you are emotionless! Remember?_

“Dean, wait.” Hissing under her breath in frustration, she stepped forward, grabbing hold of Dean's arm. He looked back at her, his bright green eyes darkened with stress. He inclined his head at her in silent befuddlement.

“I'm...I'm glad you have your brother back, Dean.” She choked out, giving his arm a firm, reassuring squeeze. Her words were rushed on their way out of her mouth, but sincere. Dean just blinked at her for a few dragging seconds, before giving her a small, grateful smile. He placed his hand on the one holding his bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze of his own; he knew she needed it too.

“Thanks 'Lena,” he whispered, watching as she nodded uncomfortably and briskly made her way to the Impala, sliding into the driver's seat. There was something about watching Elena drive his car, he mused as he watched the car getting smaller and smaller the farther away it got. It wasn't nerve wracking, as it would be with anyone else, even Sam. It was a pleasant sight...comforting. 

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Dean grimaced at his thoughts. He stole a glance to his brother, who looked for all the world like a somewhat menacing pouty child.

“So?” Sam asked, voice tinged with irony.

“So,” Dean responded. “We've got things to talk about. And I've got some explaining to do.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I suppose this was sort of short? It was three pages on Word, sorry. I'll try to have another chapter up fairly soon. Reviews help me a great deal, though!


	5. Not An Apocalyptic Mega Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on the update, but I've been out of internet for quite a while. But I'm back now! This chapter is longer than a lot of them, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own TVD or SPN.

  


"Sammy...how long have you been out of the cage?"

Sam's car (AKA, Sam's piece of plastic crap) had been flooded with a stony silence ever since they'd started driving, after watching the Impala and Elena fade into the distance. He'd contemplated asking if Ken and Barbie had gotten it for him as a 'Welcome Back' gift, but had decided against it.

Before, Dean had been too caught up in the miracle that _holy shit, his brother was alive._ Too happy to ask how the fuck he actually managed to get top-side, or how long he'd been out. Dean automatically assumed that Sam had called as soon as he'd gotten his bearings, but he asked anyway, to fill the almost-silence of the tires on gravel. Some voice in the back of his head told him he was asking the question for the reassurance that Sam even cared, but he pushed it down and away with a flourish.

Sam heaved a heavy sigh, his tight grip on the steering wheel loosening momentarily. “Dean, I...” he seemed to fish helplessly for words.

 _Well, shit,_ Dean thought. He wasn't sure which of his feelings was stronger at the moment; shock or anger. He watched as Sam briefly closed his eyes, bracing himself.

“Are you serious?! _How long have you been out, Sam?_ ” Dean barked.

 _Okay_ , he conceded as he felt the heat of rage under his skin. The anger, then. He could work with that.

“About a year,” Sam said, seeming to decide honesty was the best route right now. Before Dean could even draw a breath to begin chewing him out, Sam continued. “But, Dean-I mean, you're fine, I'm fine-what's the big deal?”

“Are you _fucking kidding_ me? The big deal is that I thought you were _dead,_ Sam! For good! Not coming back. And _now,_ you call me up out of the blue and tell me you've been walking around perfectly fine _for a year,_ without one damn word? Not even a “fuck you” for the road. Did you forget how to send a text or something? What the hell is that? I mean, seriously, _what_ the _hell,_ Sam?!” His voice was gruff and strained, as if he were holding himself back even now.

“Dean, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry.” Sam sighed, as if this was a problem he just couldn't solve. Dean noted the lack of guilt, of apology in his tone, and wondered what exactly had _happened_ to Sam while he was in the cage.

Suddenly, Sam took in a breath, turning to him in a resurgence of anger. “But what about _you,_ Dean? You're with a _vampire_? Doing what, monster hunting?” He scoffed. “How does she get blood, Dean?”

 _Ah, there's the judgment I was waiting for,_ Dean thought. He almost winced at the notion that he would have to tell Sam that Elena did in fact, hunt, instead of drinking from blood bags, and what was more, that he _let her_ hunt. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? He remained silent for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts and find a way to make any of it sound logical to another hunter. He couldn't.

He heard Sam scoff, and turned his head from where he'd been gazing with a furrowed brow out of the passenger side window. Sam was shaking his head, looking stonily at the road ahead. Dean sighed, coming to the realization that he couldn't make buddy-ing up with a vampire make even a lick of sense to another hunter no matter how he put it, but maybe he could approach this from a different angle, and reach out to his brother buried away under hunter morals.

“Sam,” he sighed. “She's my friend. The only one who was really there for me during all this.” He didn't have to indicate what he meant when he said “this”. The look in Sam's eyes told him he knew exactly what he meant. That didn't mean he was going to relent any time soon though, apparently.

“Yeah, Dean I get that-that you have this weird _thing_ for her, but how do you even know you can trust her?” Dean chose to ignore the first thing he said and instead focused on disputing the latter.

“I just _do,_ Sam. I've known her since she was a kid, and just because she got turned doesn't mean she's immediately evil and I'm gonna go chop her friggin' head off! She's been through just about as much as we have, Sam, and she's so much younger, too. Plus, she's not like the other vamps we've hunted. A different species or something. One that's more human.” It was true; the minute he'd seen her fangs and watched the veins that spread out to her cheeks and turned her eyes a muddled dark red-black, he'd asked for an explanation. She'd told him that as far as she'd known, she was the only “species” of vampire around, and when he'd proved otherwise, they'd exchanged information, her telling him about the compulsion and other powers her kind held, and about the fatality that the sun held, showing him her ring and explaining that too. She told him that the older the vampire was, the stronger, about the quite literal humanity switch they possessed, but that otherwise, every thing else from their human life was heightened, so in fact, they weren't naturally emotionless creatures, but usually turned it all off at some point due to the _overwhelming_ emotions.

She'd even, albeit a bit warily, told him that a wooden stake to the heart would finish one off in a pinch. A few days later, she'd strolled into their hotel room with a cardboard box packed full of herbs. “This herb is called verbena, otherwise know as _vervain,_ ” she'd said, holding a small stalk of it up with a gloved hand. “It's toxic to vampires and protects against compulsion. Do whatever you want with it; eat it, drink it, make jewelry out of it. Just make sure it's in you or on you.” He'd tried to keep the incredulity off his face, but had nodded gratefully at her anyway. He had thought he'd lucked out and caught her on a good day when she'd explained patiently the different ways he could _kill her,_ but now she was going to extra lengths to protect him against her kind, and he was surprised, to say the least. That was about the time Dean really began to trust Elena, with his life even. She could have snapped his neck faster than he could have blinked when he started asking questions, seeing as he hadn't really known the level of her power then, but instead she'd made sure he knew what he was walking into, and that meant something _huge_ to him.

“A vampire that's human?” Sam asked with attitude, and Dean really wished he would just _stop bitching._

“That isn't what I said. I said _more_ human. You're just looking for stuff to bitch about, and it's getting really old, because _I_ certainly don't know what _you've_ been up to all this time; so why don't you tell me, hm?”

“I've just been hunting, picking up cases with some other hunters I met on the road.” Sam, hunting with strangers? It sounded off. And the fact that Sam hadn't even thought to contact him for so long sent a shiver of apprehension up Dean's spine. Sam quickly took the attention from himself, retaliating with another harsh question before Dean could ask his own.

“Your little vampire; you don't let her feed on people, do you?” Dean knew with the extreme judgment in Sam's tone, he'd have to evade this question for the time being. Dean tried to look as outraged as he could, turning to Sam in quasi-incredulity. “Jesus Christ, Sam, really? To answer your question, _no,_ she doesn't _kill_ innocent people!”

 _There,_ he thought. _Not exactly the truth, but not a lie, either._

Sam just scoffed. “And what if she does, and you don't know it?”

He'd had about enough. “Then you can either _deal with it,_ or back the hell off and go hunt somewhere else!”

“Are you seriously choosing a monster over your own brother right now?” Sam looked incredulous, maybe even a little worried.

Dean sighed, defeated, and slumped in his seat. “No, Sam, you know I want you to stay with everything I have...but I also want her to stay. I won't let you hurt her.” He straightened again with his last words, letting Sam know that the warning in his tone was real. This was his brother he was talking to, it was _Sammy_ , but Elena had been and still was an important part of his life; she was his family too. And he didn't have much family left these days.

“She isn't just a run of the mill monster to me.” He realized he'd said these words out loud, in barely a whisper. Sam sighed, a defeated one this time, finally relenting.

“Okay, Dean, I guess I get it,” he said. “But if she kills someone and I hear about it, there isn't anything I can do.” Although he was surrendering the point now, Dean could still detect his brother's anger, and knew he'd have to keep an eye on him for a while.

Instead of arguing with him about it, Dean just nodded, somewhat relieved he was letting it go for now. He thought about telling Sam the differences between the type of vamp Elena was and the ones Sam knew of. He decided it would probably be safer not to, though, at least until Sam got over his aversion to her. A few moments passed in contemplating silence before he turned to Sam again, cocking an eyebrow.

“So, why'd you call me up, anyway? You've been living fine and dandy without me for a year without a problem. Why now?” Either Sam had become oblivious to emotions, or he decided to ignore the bitterness in his brother's voice. When he gave another heavy exhalation of breath, Dean noted that excessive sighing must be a Winchester trait.

“I need your help with something.”

_Jackpot._

“Right, and is this a minor something or more like an apocalyptic-mega-crisis...something?” He was trying to use snark to cover up his thinly veiled panic. They'd just fixed this. What if there _was_ some mega-crisis? Had Lucifer followed Sam out of Hell? Were demons over-taking in his stead? There couldn't possibly be _two_ apocalyptic scares in the course of just over three-hundred-sixty-five days, could there? The car slowed suddenly as they pulled into a parking lot, and Dean looked out the tinted windshield, having been lost in his thoughts. They had just pulled up to a _Motel 6,_ driving around back to a dingy room marked with the numbers _141_.

“Come on,” Sam said, taking the keys out of the ignition and starting toward the room. “I'll show you.”

  
****************************************************************************

“What are we....what are we supposed to do with it?”

Once Sam had led them into the dingy motel room, Dean saw that it was not another apocalyptic nightmare waiting on the other side of the door; rather, it was something he deemed much worse. Something he had no idea how to handle. Uncharted territory.

Sam looked awkward and annoyed, the first emotions other than anger Dean had seen cross his face since he'd been back. His wide eyes and scrunched eyebrows might have made Dean snicker if he wasn't just as clueless on what to do with the thing squirming on a towel in the center of the bed.

“Do I _look_ like I have any type of experience with stuff like this?” Sam snapped, not taking his eyes of it.

“Well, do _I_?” He snapped back with incredulity.

At that moment, the baby let out a long high-pitched squall, causing both men to jump.

Sam had explained briefly about the case he was working on, and that he had found what was soon to be one more of the missing babies huddled under a bed. God knew why exactly he was keeping it with him, though. Dean decided not to ask. “Isn't there _someone_ you can call for help? Any of those hunters you made nice with have paternal instincts?”

“Not any more than either of us.”

“Hm. Well, this is just _great,_ Sam. What are we gonna do-” He stopped short, frozen. “Ha! Hold on, I have an idea.” he whipped out his phone, scrolling through the contacts and seeming to stop and look at one as if it were the cure to cancer. He pressed the call button, putting the phone to his ear, licking his lips with comically wide green eyes in an expression Sam recognized. Dean thought whatever plan he had was genius, the answer to all their problems. He heard the faint sound of an annoyed female voice pick up, saying something that sounded like “what is it _now,_ Dean?”

“Elena!” Dean cried, yelped almost. Sam almost stomped his foot in frustration. The vampire, again? _Really?_

“Listen, Elena, we kinda need your help here-” he was cut off, Elena's voice suddenly becoming serious and business-like over the phone.

“No, no, it's not life threatening.” Dean assured her. With a suspicious glance at the baby still lying on the bed, silent now, he amended, “At least, I don't think.”

“It's kind of, um, we need help taking care of a baby...NO, I didn't _steal_ a baby! Sam did! The point is, we don't exactly _specialize_ in this area, and we need your help, so get your happy little ass down here.”

Sam thought he heard a muttered “oh my _GOD_ ” and delightful laughter. Monster or not, Sam thought, she had a nice laugh. One that, if she _weren't_ a monster, he might've liked to hear in bed.

“Well, your dad was a doctor, wasn't he? That's gotta mean something. And last time I checked, you were a babysitter when you were a kid, right?” Sam wondered idly if Dean thought he'd stepped on a sore spot by mentioning this girl's human life when he winced at the sudden silence on the other end of the line. After seconds of quiet, there was a clipped sentence, and then Dean gave her directions to the hotel and the room number. Another clipped reply. Then the dial tone.

Dean took one look at Sam's face, sighed, and pointed at him with the hand still holding his out-dated flip phone. “You said you understood.” It sounded like a warning.

He let his lip curl slightly in distaste, nodding to signal that he wouldn't do anything particularly drastic, yet.

“Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

**********************************************************************************

Elena tapped her fingers on the wheel of the Impala, periodically switching the radio to different stations, since, without Dean in the car, it was one of the few times she could listen to the music she wanted to listen to.

_I keep on looking with my mind set on a mission_

_I walk the streets I walked before_

_Sometimes you're on your own, sometimes you're out of control_

Nope. Reminded her too much of waking up in a different antique car on the way to Georgia, blue eyes twinkling at her in humor the entire ride. She flipped to a different station.

_I'll be right here now, to hold you when the sky falls down_

Ew. The soundtrack to every one of Stefan's suffocating, unsatisfactory hugs. It hadn't been his comfort she'd needed. Switch.

_Take me back to the start_

No, thank you!

_Things we lost to the flames, things we'll never see again_

_Whoa, okay, that one hit a bit close to home._ Growling, she gave it one last try. She punched a button on the old stereo, listening to the beginning notes of Linkin Park's _Numb_ fill the car. It was some Dubstep remix.

_Tired of being what you want me to be, feeling so faithless, lost under the surface_

_Don't know what you're expecting of me, put under the pressure of walking in your shoes_

_Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow_

Ah, finally. Now this song, she could feel with, and it was okay.

_Every step that I take is another mistake to you_

_Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow_

_I've become so numb I can't feel you there_

_Become so tired, so much more aware_

_I'm becoming this and all I want to do is be more like me_

_And be less like you_

It reminded her of when she was first discovering how the whole inner-vampirism thing worked, crying and stressing over the fact that she was more like-well, a vampire-than she thought she ever could be. She'd tried so hard to push the vampire-the hungry, cruel creature-away, and stay somewhat human when she just wasn't anymore.

_And I know_

_I may end up, failing too_

_And I know_

_You were just like me with someone disappointed in you_

Elena scoffed out loud. How stupid she'd been.

She was approximately three miles from the hotel they were staying at, planning to sit down, watch the History Channel (she thought it was interesting, didn't know why Dean had been surprised to walk in with take out one night to see her watching it) or maybe sit down on her laptop and look for a case (she'd gotten into it, okay?) when Dean called, interrupting her thoughts. She turned the radio down, answering the phone.

“What is it _now_ , Dean?” she asked, overly exasperated.

“Elena!” Dean yelped. His voice was so comically high, she almost asked if someone had poked something sharp into the place where the sun don't shine, but didn't get a chance to. He kept talking. “Listen, Elena we kinda need your help here-”

Oh crap. Had he really _already_ gotten himself into a situation? She quickly dropped her smirk, cutting him off. “What's wrong? Are you in danger?”

He seemed to pause for a nearly indiscernible moment before he answered, making her fingers fidget nervously on the steering wheel. “No, no, it's not life threatening,” Another pause. “At least, I don't think.” She rolled her eyes, relaxing in her seat and focusing back on the road. Clearly, the only thing Dean was in danger of was his own stupidity.

“Then what is it?” she asked with an irritated sigh.

“It's kind of um,” he sounded nervous. His next words made her go rigid again. “We need your help taking care of a baby...” She stopped the car with a screech on the side of the road, fighting the irrational urge to look around to make sure no one was listening.

“Dean!” She gasped. “Did you _steal a fucking baby?_ ” her teeth were gritted by the end of her sentence, and she was fighting for control of her temper. Why _the fuck_ did he always get himself into these weird ass situations? The more she thought about it though, the funnier it was, and her temper started to cool quickly.

“NO, I didn't _steal_ a baby!” he snapped back, sounding appalled. “Sam did! The point is, we don't exactly _specialize_ in this area, and we need your help, so get your happy little ass down here, will ya?”

“Oh my _GOD_!” she uttered, resting her head on the steering wheel. The ridiculousness of the situation was hilarious, and she finally let her laughter out in a long stream of rich giggles. “And what exactly,” she asked as her laughter died down. “makes you think that _I_ can help you in your little...” A small chuckle. “predicament?”

“Well, your dad was a doctor, wasn't he? That's gotta mean something. And last time I checked, you were a babysitter when you were a kid, right?”

_Ooh, bad move, Dean. I don't like to talk about this, you know I don't like to talk about this._

She was silent for a moment, just breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. She was restraining herself from blowing up on Dean. It wasn't all his fault, was it? No, it wasn't his fault that she seemed to be way too sensitive lately than her current emotionless state required. She guessed her steel walls were rotting away to nothing. Damn.

She put the car back in drive, pulling away from the curb and doing a U-turn.

“Where are you?”

 


	6. Petrova Women Make Truces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! I think I'm getting better at this updating thing. ;)  
> As always, reviews are appreciated.

Elena pulled into the _Motel 6_ Dean had given her directions to. What had the room number been, _141_? She pulled around the back, parking the Impala next to Sam's car. She rolled her eyes at it as she climbed out of Dean's car, flipping the keys around her pointer finger. The sleek (and surely overly expensive) car was entirely black. The windows were fully tinted, and even the tire rims were a solid dark black. It was an extreme contrast against the sun and the gray pavement of the parking lot, but she expected it blended right into the shadows at night, which was probably Sam's whole intention.

She took a deep breath her body didn't need, and opened the door to the motel room. She hadn't used her enhanced hearing to listen before she'd walked in, and now she rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her head. The gargantuan Sam was standing awkwardly on the side of the room, his stance comically hesitant while Dean paced the middle of the room with a baby slung surprisingly naturally over his shoulder. Neither seemed to notice her.

The baby was still squalling, and over its screaming Elena could hear Dean's helpless attempt to calm it by humming “Smoke On The Water” in his deep, rumbling tones. She leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms snugly against her stomach, just watching.

After a few more minutes of relentless rocking and humming, the baby calmed to mere whimpers, and Dean gave a triumphant huff. “Now, if I put you down, you gonna be a man about it?” he mumbled, placing him on an elaborate set-up of pillows on the motel bed. The baby quieted, and Elena heard its breathing calm into slow, steady paces.

Huh. Who knew Dean Winchester had a Daddy gene?

“I don't know, Doctor Huxtable, it looks like you got this handled.” she made her presence known, strolling leisurely into the room. Dean's head whipped up in surprise, but he made no move toward her. Sam, on the other hand, came to attention rather quickly, and gave her an instinctively wary look. His hand strayed toward the back of his waistband, where she assumed he kept a weapon of some kind. She thought of Sam blindly throwing salt on her, and almost snorted out loud. What was he gonna do, pull a machete out of his ass? She'd have it out of his hands and pressed against his throat before he could blink. She suspected Sam didn't really know what she was; in the short time they'd been gone, Dean probably hadn't gotten around to explaining to him the major differences between her kind and those half-breed fuck ups they hunted that called themselves vampires.

She held her hands up calmly, whistling. “Cool your jets there, man. I've been summoned.”

He didn't look happy about it, she observed, but he sighed and retracted his hand, with lips tight and eyes narrowed in an expression she was sure he'd practiced in the mirror at some point.

She figured it was time to get moving, so she strode over to the table at the side of the bed and picked up the pad of paper there, scrounging around in the drawers for a pen, impatiently moving a worn customary bible out of the way in the process. “Alright, I'm sending you on a milk run; saw a supermarket a few miles up the road. I'll make a list for you.”

She glanced over at the peacefully sleeping infant, jotting things down as they came to mind. “He's a bit of a big guy for his age, so I'd probably get, hm, medium or large size diapers? Pick up some Gerber’s too; get like, one of each flavor in case he doesn't like it and spits it all over you. Grab one of those tiny rubber spoons, you know which ones I'm talking about, right? Some baby powder and oil. Good idea to get some rash protection cream, too. Oh, and make sure everything you buy is good quality. Don't get the cheapest shit there, because it's all most likely been recalled sometime in the past or the near future, and it'll either give him a massive rash or make him sick, and you don't want a sick, rash-y baby on your hands, cause you can damn well bet _I'm_ not gonna be the one to clean up his puke, ya got it? Good.”

Looking up from her hurried scribbling, she caught Dean staring at her like she was his new leader, taking in her every word like it was the air he breathed. Even Sam seemed mildly impressed. “Alright, boys, you think you can do this, or do I need to go with you? Someone's gotta stay here with the kid, though.” She said, pressing the paper to Dean's chest with a pat as she passed him. Dean glanced down at the neat, bubbly handwriting, before straightening his back and looking back at her almost defiantly.

“No, we can handle it. Isn't that right, Sam?” he boasted, glancing expectantly at his brother. Sam fidgeted, looking skeptically at Elena. “I don't know if we should...leave her here alone with...” he trailed off, probably expecting Dean to come to his senses and agree with him.

Dean just blinked at him.

Elena had caught on to what he was going to say the second he'd opened his mouth, and she was completely offended and enraged by Sam's insinuation. She may be a blood-sucking monster by definition, she thought, but how _dare he_ imply she would do the same to an innocent child! And especially one she was trying to help him take care of.

She voiced her thoughts aloud, advancing on him fearlessly. “If you are suggesting that I would harm a _hair_ on that little baby's head, you need to _seriously_ think again, you got it? If you're really that concerned, though, by all means, stay here and make sure I don't eat the fucking baby or some shit.”

She was up in his face; or as in his face as she could get, and fighting the intense urge to shove him hard in the shoulder, maybe throw him into the wall. But as much as she wanted to, she reminded herself, this was Dean's brother, there was a baby six feet away, and most importantly, if she started a fight with him, it would just serve to completely dispute her point.

“Dick.” she added for good measure, enunciating clearly. She had heard overall good things about Sam over the years, but if he was going to act like this, all high and mighty on his throne of cliché “badass” sports cars and fraudulent credit cards, well, he could just go fuck himself.

Elena saw Sam's jaw clench hard, and he looked at the wall behind her as if he could burn through it with his glare alone. He was trying to control his anger too.

She could already tell that her and Sam Winchester were _not_ going to get along, at all. She didn't know how they were going to tolerate each other, but they might have to if they both wanted to keep Dean in their lives. He was the only thing they had in common so far, it seemed. Except for their mutual dislike of each other. There was always that to bond over, Elena thought snidely.

Maybe she would have to be the bigger person here, douse the flames even when she wanted to jump right into the fire. She took a deep breath and stepped back from Sam, pointedly.

“Look,” she started in her diplomat voice, much like the tone she'd used to barter deals with Elijah when she was human. “I know you don't like me, and you're suspicious of me, and I'm a monster, OMG, and all that horse crap, okay? I don't much like you either, _but_ I'm willing to act civilized if you are.” She looked expectantly between Sam and Dean, who were both sporting skeptical looks.

“And by “act civilized”, I of course mean, I won't try to kill you as long as you don't try to kill me first. Insult me all you want, and I'll do the same; trust me, it helps repress the homicidal urges.” She added conspiratorially, a smirk threatening to take over her features.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Dean nod, almost as if he were the teacher of a good behavior class and she was that kid who always set a good example for the entire class. Unbelievable.

With a glance at Dean, at her, back at Dean, back at her, Sam huffed lightly, seeming to be more unbelieving than Elena of how the events of the day were falling into place. “Okay, fine, sure.” he still spoke with tight lips, as if his mouth were stitched tightly together, and he was straining to speak around the stitches.

“Then we have a deal. Friends?” Elena responded, maybe trying to be sincere, maybe not. Sam glared at her again, and she decided sarcasm was always a nice out.

“Okay, that's a milestone for a different day. Got it.” She said with insincere awkwardness. Dean rolled his eyes at her words, heading toward the door, grocery list firmly grasped in his fingers. “You comin' or not?” his words were directed at Sam, and his tone sounded harder than usual.

Elena's eyebrows shot up, unnoticed by the brothers as she looked between them. So apparently _Dean_ wasn't too fond of Sam at the moment, either. Interesting. Sam nodded, and with one last hateful glance at her, made his way past Dean and out the door, where the elder brother lingered.

“We'll be back soon. You, uh,” he cleared his throat, his gaze shooting to the ground. “You be careful, alright?” he said as his eyes squinted into hers in that way they did. She nodded, giving him a somewhat bitter smile as he closed the door, even though she wasn't sure she knew what he meant. Or why she felt a sudden ball of dread knotting in her stomach. _Or_ why she felt like she wanted to sit down and have a nice, long cry. Well, maybe that last part could be explained fairly easily due to the myriad emotions flooding back into her system. She felt like she was a computer that had been shut down, dark to the world for months, and was now being slowly booted up again, lights turning on and certain programs kicking into use again.

She felt like she was coming alive in a completely different way than the way she'd felt alive in the last year and a half. She was turning back into _Elena_. It wasn't as good of a feeling as one might think.

She sighed loudly into the empty room as she listened to Dean's (and Sam's) footsteps move towards Sam's car. She heard Dean huff quietly, and could imagine him patting his pockets, ready to protest taking his brother's plastic looking car, before he realized Elena still had his keys.

She didn't even try to lie to herself anymore as she listened to them drive off; she'd been listening to make sure they stayed safe, because on some level, a voice was nagging at her, telling her that _she'd_ gotten kidnapped countless times as soon as her “security team” took a break. And, honestly, those boys must've had countless enemies who wouldn't have a problem snagging them to try out some new midday torture methods. She knew they could put up a good fight on their own, for sure, but no matter how experienced, they were still just humans, as she had been.

As the sound of the engine blended in with the others on the highway, Elena turned around, strolling her way back toward the baby on the bed, still sleeping. She idly adjusted his position on the pillows, making him more comfortable. She stroked the fine hairs away from his soft forehead, sighing again. “What am I going to _do_?” she asked in a desperate whisper, knowing that if she didn't know the answer to that, a damn infant sure didn't.

Shaking her head at her own self, Elena started humming along to a song playing on repeat in her head, walking into the small kitchen section of the room and toward the fridge, where, if she was right and the brothers kept similar habits, there were at least five bottles of beer. Opening the fridge proved her right. She smiled in satisfaction and reached in for one, placing it on the counter. She was just about to pop the cap when her gaze shifted to the perfectly placed bottle of cheap scotch sitting innocently on the counter in front of her. There was even a clean glass tumbler next to it, hers for the taking.

She really shouldn't drink something so strong while taking care of a small, defenseless human, she thought as she looked back and forth between the two bottles. _But,_ Elena reasoned with herself, her tolerance was practically unbreakable now that she was an official member of the undead, _and_ strong alcohol helped with curbing bloodlust...not that she was feeling any at this moment. She'd gotten very good at control in the last months, knowing that she _couldn't,_ living with a hunter, afford to lose it and maybe have a few more self-pitying “I'm a monster” moments while digging some poor soul's grave or blubbering uncontrollably in someone else's blood.

Not that she hadn't... _indulged_ herself a few times. Killing demons just wasn't enough sometimes, she thought as she unceremoniously tossed her beer back in the fridge. Sometimes she had to indulge in the human scum of the earth, too. She thought back on the times when she'd snuck out of the hotel room past midnight, dressed in black from head to toe, her makeup done up dark and her lips painted scarlet. She was always sure to let her attitude (her aura, really) uncoil from her body like a whip, radiating off her dangerously and striking anyone who dared come too close. She went into the worst part of whatever town they were hunting in, listening for suspicious sounds and searching the shadows with a glare. _Every single time,_ she'd come across at least one crying girl pinned to some brick wall, a man of varying age keeping them there. The aforementioned scum she indulged in.

Her hair curled and chocolate eyes lethal, she showed them something scarier than Katherine Pierce.

Sometimes when they were young and impressionable, or they had an immediate look of regret when she ripped them violently off the girl, or were just plain stupid, she would let them off “easy”: compel them to be unreasonably, eternally, miserable. She told them to go through life always feeling on the edge of insanity, of suicide, but made sure they would never— _could_ never—give in. Otherwise, she just killed them, for no other reason than the satisfaction of their screams turned around on them, and the fact that they could never leave another impression on the human race; never pass on their gene pool. Dean didn't know about any of her special nighttime excursions, though Elena was sure he wouldn't need much convincing to realize she was doing the world a favor.

She mulled over it as she poured herself a glass of the cheap scotch; how much she'd changed since the day she'd bumped clumsily into Stefan Salvatore outside the bathroom; since she'd found out about vampires, Katherine, Klaus, The Originals. The list could go on. Throughout everything, she'd always been the defenseless human, always accompanied by someone in love with her just enough to put her life unquestioningly before theirs. Elena herself probably couldn't have made a tough decision if her life depended on it. In fact, her life _had_ depended on it before, and she'd lain down to die.

But now, she was so different, her past self wouldn't have recognized her a bit. The only worrying part about any of it was that she wasn't _worried_ about not being worried about not being who she'd been for the first eighteen years of her life.

But maybe she wasn't so different now. Maybe she never really knew who Elena Gilbert was. Should she even be allowed to call herself a Gilbert? Because she wasn't, not through and through. She observed her own hand holding her scotch, how elegantly she held the glass, spindly fingers spread lazily around the center. Her hand was not the hand of an American teenager, or even a teenage vampire, certainly not the hand of a _Gilbert_ ; it was the hand of a Petrova woman, a dominatrix, women who were instinctively graceful and intelligent and powerful. It was practically _in her blood_ to be a vampire, Elena thought, and wasn't quite sure if she felt horrified or insanely powerful.

She heard the baby start squalling again, and snapped out of her heavy thoughts to tend to it. She sighed as she made her way toward the kid; seeing babies now just reminded her of what she would never have. She dipped her finger into the brownish liquid in her glass and stretched it experimentally down in front of the baby's red face. He cooed at the prospect of a new thing to chew on, and sucked her finger into his mouth, quieting completely as he tasted the heavy alcohol on her skin. She smirked as the baby's eyes widened into saucers in wonder.

“It's good, isn't it?” she asked with satisfaction. Maybe she liked this kid after all.

 

 


	7. Prey

 By the time the boys returned, fully equipped with baby wipes, diapers, a build-it-yourself _crib_ , plus an arsenal of various creams and ointments, and God knows what else, Elena's mouth was running dry from the bottle of scotch she'd all but finished off in their absence. She was feeling noticeably looser in reference to her earlier encounter with Sam, (in reference to everything, really) though not even close to tipsy.

“Finally!” She huffed dramatically as the door got shoved open. Dean was behind it, carrying a year's supply-size package of Huggies diapers, plastic bags weighing down each of his arms. She'd heard the boys' scuffling struggles with the huge grocery load from inside, she just hadn't cared enough to help them out. Elena chuckled as he dropped everything in his arms with wince-inducing clangs, a few stray travel size bottles of baby oil rolling out of one of the bags.

“Yeah, laugh it up.” Dean griped. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem, compadre.”

Next, Sam ambled in, carting a variety pack of baby food jars, so big that it was the only thing he could carry. Elena widened her eyes at them as she drug her feet to the floor from their place, crossed at the ankles on the tabletop. “Where'd you guys go, a warehouse store? The nearest Costco have any good deals?”

Sam glared intensely at her before setting the package down on the table and heading into the bathroom without a word. Surprising.

“He's moody.” She exclaimed, popping up too energetically from the hard wooden chair that had been starting to make her butt sore. “And _I'm_ thirsty, so I'm gonna head out, grab something decent to drink.”

Dean's eyebrows crinkled, and his gaze shot between her and the bathroom door. “But it's the middle of the day.” His tone was low, almost a whisper. “What are you, crazy? Elena, you can't-”

“Don't tell me what to do, Dean. I wasn't talking about _that_ kind of drink, anyway. Get your mind out of the gutter. And keep it down, will you? There's a hunter _right in there_!” she hissed mockingly, pointing with fake urgency to the bathroom door. She rolled her eyes.

“There anything you want?” she asked, her voice normal now.

“Uh, _no_ , cause you're not going. We need you to stay here and watch the kid while we-”

“Do more research? Relax, I'll be right back.” She cocked her head to the side, examining her wrist as if there were a watch there. “Depending on the traffic, I _might_ have a few extra minutes, grab a real bite. Oh and uh, this time, I was talking about the, um...” she mimed pouncing on someone and biting into their neck. “ _other_ one.” she finished.

She smirked as she saw redness start to crawl up his collar and onto his cheeks. “I-”

“There still groceries in the car?” she interrupted him, shrugging on her discarded denim jacket.

He huffed. “Well, yeah, but-”

Suddenly, she was behind him, pressed close enough that if he moved his foot even an inch, he'd be stepping on her toes. Her breasts were pressed softly up against his back, and her nose was nuzzling its way into the hollow of his ear. He breathed in the sudden overwhelming wave of her scent as his eyes slipped closed involuntarily. Dean felt himself unconsciously lean back into her. He could feel the wonderful humidity of her breath as she stood on her toes to reach his height. Elena's lips brushed against his earlobe, and she just seemed to breathe for a moment, before she whispered, “See ya later, alligator.”

And then she was gone in a burst of wind, the door slamming shut behind her. The roaring sound of the Impala starting up dragged Dean harshly out of his Elena-induced haze, and almost drowned out his racing heartbeat. He shook his head, eyes popping open, as he backed up unsteadily to plop down on the bed not vacated by the baby. He placed his elbows on his knees, head collapsing into his palms.

_What the hell was that?_

Elena couldn't have that affect on him, right? (But apparently, she did.) He was pretty strong in that area, (which was why he was so damn good at it) and if anyone was going to have his pants tightening and skin blazing and eyes dilating with a mere brush, he would never have thought it would be Elena Gilbert. _Innocent, sweet_ , little Elena Gilbert.

His sudden yearning for a cold shower told him she wasn't so little and innocent anymore. Oh, definitely not innocent.

 _Speaking of showers, what's taking Sam so long in the bathroom?_ He wondered as he took a deep breath to calm himself. Right. Back to the real world now, Dean-o.

“Sam!” he bellowed, more aggressively than he normally would have. “What's taking so long in there?”

A moment later, the door cracked open and Sam stepped out, stuffing something in his back pocket. Sam chuckled nervously. “Sorry, my stomach's been giving me some trouble lately.” he joked halfheartedly, eyes darting away from his.

Dean tried not to squint at him in suspicion; Sam's eyebrows were shot halfway up his forehead, and his teeth were exposed in a brief grimace/awkward grin. That always meant he had something to hide. And, plus, he'd been giving Dean the cold (and judgmental) shoulder almost since they'd reunited. Sure, they'd relaxed in the last hours, but the underlying sense of “we need to talk about this” was still near the surface, and Sam would never go so far as to make a joke so casually when they were in a big fight. Sam's eyes wandered around the room, his eyebrows coming down to their normal place.

“Where's, the, uh...”

 _the vampire_ , Dean bitterly finished for him in his head. Elena. He wanted to see her eyes again. Badly.

Oh, _fuck_ , he was in for such a long ride.

“She went to get-” _Ooh, no, don't say that; it'll just give him another reason to bitch._ “- _go_ for a ride.” Good save.

There went the eyebrows again, up to his hairline. Now, that one didn't mean “I have something to hide”. Instead, Dean knew it meant: “I think you have something to hide.” Dean could read the look in his eyes that said that wherever Elena was, he hoped she wouldn't come back.

“Right.” Sam muttered skeptically, shaking his head to himself.

He walked past him and moved the ridiculously large pack of baby food before settling himself at the small round table in the room. Dean got up from the bed and moved nearer to the sleeping baby, to give himself something to do as Sam started looking through a file of papers. He stared down at the flawlessness of the sleeping boy in veiled wonder. Dean morbidly pondered if he himself would ever have children. He would like to think he'd be a better-more normal (ha!)-dad than his father had been to him and Sam, but he wasn't so sure. With the way he'd been raised, the lineage of hunters throughout his family line, his unlikeliness to ever give up the pull that this lifestyle had on him-the idea of kids wasn't even plausible enough to entertain as a possibility.

The words were out of his mouth before he had time to consider them. “You ever think about having kids?”

It was such a stupid question, he realized as the words spilled out. Of course Sam had thought about having kids, at some point in time. Probably when he was a kid himself, or when he was at Stanford and in love with Jessica, on the fast track to a life of normalcy; with a beautiful wife, a good job, and voila-a few golden children with Jessica's pretty blue eyes and Sam's strong Winchester features.

It was probably insensitive of him to ask. But Sam only seemed slightly uncomfortable as he slowly raised his head from reading through the file. “Um...no. Maybe.” He looked even more uncomfortable now, like he wasn't sure what to say next.

“Uh...why? Have you?” he tried. Dean shrugged, looking at the floor. The motel carpet had that trying-to-be-homely-but-not kind of pattern that made him nostalgic for the soft, familiar feel of the carpets of their old home in Kansas.

“Yeah...” he answered Sam, still avoiding his gaze. “I mean, I guess. But,” he shook his head almost ruefully. “I mean, it's never gonna happen.” Not the way I'd want it to, at least. “If I did, though, have kids, I'd want to do something different with 'em than what Dad did with us, y'know? Raised in a real home, with a real, ordinary life. I mean, I know now that our fate was kind of inevitable; Dad couldn't have really done anything, but...I don't know. I could do something different, man.”

Dean was suddenly lost in his torturous muddled thoughts, staring sadly at one spot on the wall. The wallpaper was ugly, too, he noticed. He saw Sam nod understandingly in his peripheral vision. God, why did he have to be so emotional? He'd spent almost his whole life trying to act rough-n-tough, give off that “rebel without a cause” vibe, throw people off. Be like his dad. But, in the end, he was always the one crying or having a fit, or making a stupid decision in the midst of panic.

And Sam. Wasn't he usually the emotional one? The one more open about his feelings? Why wasn't he crying tears of joy by now, ecstatic that his brother was finally “opening up”?

“Whatever.” Dean muttered. He wasn't sure what his voice sounded like, or what it was supposed to sound like. What was he supposed to be feeling right now?

Sam seemed to snap out of a daze. “No, yeah, I...get it.” His voice was stiff again, awkward. Not Sam.

“Yeah.”

/////

Again, _why did I do that_? Elena thought frantically. She had driven the Impala to-you guessed it-the closest alcohol hotspot, and was currently slouched over a bar, analyzing her own every action. She might as well have had sex with him, getting that close! She tried-honestly tried-to convince herself that she was playing with him, that that little move of hers back at the hotel had been completely inconsequential. Absolutely nothing. Yeah, okay. She sighed heavily, groaning and burying her face in her hands.

“Hey, yo, Chuckles.” she called lazily to the somewhat awkward looking bartender, lifting her head. Dear God, she'd even picked up his cutely offensive nicknames.

“Another bourbon. And get it right this time, huh? On the rocks. ” She snapped. The bartender nodded and held up a finger in waiting, giving her a grimace at the nickname.

There was a chuckle at her shoulder. “Well, I do love a woman who knows her scotch.”

She turned almost wearily to face the person intruding on her somewhat self-pitying thoughts. She really wasn't in the mood for this game right now, she thought as she gave him a once-over. He was muscular and tall, maybe 6'2. He had well kept hair; light brown with a little douche-y quiff on top. His eyebrows were dark, deep arches over his not-startling-but-nice-to-look-at eyes that were a kind of soothing greenish-blue. She wasn't very good at judging ages, but he looked to be around twenty-seven. Elena wondered how old she must look, if he was even approaching her, calling her a woman, not a little girl like she'd been not too long ago.

“Mm.” she responded noncommittally.

“Aw, is someone grumpy?” The guy asked, stupidly. Yeah, it seemed the only thing he was good for was a meal.

“Yes.” Elena responded curtly, spinning around on her stool to face him. She made direct eye contact with him, and his expression went blank. “And you look prettier with your mouth closed.” A quick, emotionless smirk. He nodded numbly.

The bartender slid her glass down the bar at her, and she broke eye contact with the pretty boy as her fingers wrapped around it. She stopped short with the glass an inch from her mouth. “Oh, you can talk,” she added, pointing a finger at him in a “go ahead” motion. “Just keep it to a minimum.”

“Right, sure.” he said, blinking rapidly as he came out of the haze of compulsion. “So, what did you say your name was again?” he laughed nervously.

“I didn't.” He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, she spoke over him, a plan playing out in her mind.

“So, whatdya say, we have a few more drinks, and then,” she stared mischievously up at him through her eyelashes, in the way she knew turned people on like a switch. “We can have a little _fun_.”

She heard his heartbeat kick into overdrive, and she knew that she had him.


	8. What Happens In Back Alleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, but I typed up a very short little chapter here, but I'm already working on the next part of the story. More of a sneak peek really. A little rusty, but hope you like it. :)

One hand against the hard cement wall, the other tangled in his full head of hair, angling it just so to expose his neck to her fully. There was a slow, dirty rock song pouring out from inside the bar, setting the mood. Her leg stiffened to keep his in place around her waist, and she moaned.

The leg thing, it was something that had started happening when she learned how to influence arousal into her victims, with men and women. It had brought on a surprisingly huge burst of confidence, and even passion for the hunt, ever since that first girl, pushed up against a wall had tossed her leg haphazardly around her waist, Elena's teeth digging into her throat. Now, she always hiked one of their legs up around her waist; or whenever she was feeling frisky, at least.

Gender didn't seem to matter to her anymore, with much of anything. Elena pulled back, letting the guy slump against the wall. She ran her thumb against her bottom lip, collecting the blood there.

“Mm.” she moaned shortly, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “You do taste delicious. Kinda like...an aged scotch, lust,” she grinned, because she hadn't had to influence that into him. “...and something else. What did you have for lunch?”

He didn't answer her, and she shrugged. She searched her pockets and came up with three crumpled tissues and a few dimes and quarters; her phone was tucked into her bra, safe and sound. She used the tissues to wipe up some of the blood that had trickled down his chest, humming idly. She calmly inspected his bite mark next, not knowing if she should cringe or smirk at the condition this poor boy's throat was in.

“Ooh,” she chuckled. “I got you good, didn't I? Sorry 'bout that; I was really hungry.” His eyes were closed, and she would have thought he had fallen asleep but for his erratic heartbeat. Instead of using the tissues again, she leaned in and lapped up the blood from the side of his neck, her tongue digging into his wound as her saliva healed it. He shivered.

“Not much of a talker now, are you?” she whispered, eyes hooded, slinking up to his ear like a snake.

Elena suddenly realized she didn't even remember his name.

“What was your name again, sweetheart?” Still with that quiet, husky tone. He groaned; she knew he was disoriented.

His eyes opened into slits. “Jason.”

“ _Jason_ ,” she emphasized, finally pulling back and straightening his collar. She buttoned up his long sleeved button down, easily placing her hands flat against his chest, like a housewife sending her husband off to work. She stared right into those pretty, calming eyes. “Here's what I want you to do; I want you to wake up a little bit, go get yourself a nice, caffeinated beverage, then go home and sleep it off. You won't remember that I fed off of you; all you'll remember is that we went out back, had a hot little make-out session, you gave me your number, and then you left. You never even got my name. Okay?” Jason nodded mechanically.

She nodded back at him, satisfied, and leaned up and kissed him on the mouth, long and hard. His mouth tasted like cigarettes poorly covered by spearmint, and she resisted the urge to cringe.

“Ah...” he groaned regrettably, pulling reluctantly back. “I'd love to continue this; believe me, I'd really love to continue this, but I have a lot to do tonight and....” He looked lost for a second. “And I really need to go get a coffee.” He shook his head with a huff, slightly befuddled. She just smiled at him, playing her part.

He leaned in and gave her a hesitant peck on the cheek, which may have been sweet or endearing if he wasn't just a snack to her. “But I, uh, I gave you my number, right?”

_No. Thank God._

“Yeah, of course.” She grinned up at him, dazzlingly. “And I'll call you.”

_Not really._

“Okay, well...” he chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. He started to back away, grinning. The further his long legs carted him away from her, the more confidence he seemed to gain, and as he disappeared around the corner, walking backwards, he winked with a smirking grin that reminded her of someone else. “Maybe I'll see you around, Mystery Girl!” he shouted back to her. He spun around on his heel and sauntered away, the traumatizing experience so easily gone from his mind. Elena scoffed out loud, shaking her head.

Boy, did she wish she had it that easy still.


	9. A/N: IMPORTANT

**Author's Note:**

_Good morning, readers (or night, or afternoon, or whatever time it is). I'm afraid I've got unfortunate news to share with you. I've recently run into some issues concerning my computer, and it looks like I won't be able to update And Here We Are for a little while. My computer won't even start, and it's misery, because my entire LIFE is on that thing. So, to get to the point, yes, And Here We Are is on **temporary** hiatus. But, don't fear, my sweets; I'm stubborn enough to drive through hell just to keep this story alive. If it gets too much for me, I'll drive to Bestbuy and use the computers on display to update. Or, I guess I could just use the ones at the library, but...that's the cowardly way out. ;)_

_With lots of love,_

_Your Author (MultiFandomGirl)_


	10. What Happens In Back Alleys Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, technically this is all chapter 8, and what I gave you last time WAS a sneak peek. I also forgot to tell you last time, the perfect song for Elena's beginning scene is "Consoler Of The Lonely" by The Raconteurs. It's the "slow, dirty rock song" playing in the bar as she feeds. I strongly suggest you listen to it as you read.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zw-cuyNAcQ8
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.

 

One hand against the hard cement wall, the other tangled in his full head of hair, angling it just so to expose his neck to her fully. There was a slow, dirty rock song pouring out from inside the bar, setting the mood. Her leg stiffened to keep his in place around her waist, and she moaned. The leg thing, it was something that had started happening when she learned how to influence arousal into her victims, with men and women. It had brought on a surprisingly huge burst of confidence, and even passion for the hunt, ever since that first girl, pushed up against a wall had tossed her leg haphazardly around her waist, Elena's teeth digging into her throat. Now, she always hiked one of their legs up around her waist; or whenever she was feeling frisky, at least. Gender didn't seem to matter to her anymore, with much of anything.

Elena pulled back, letting the guy slump against the wall. She ran her thumb against her bottom lip, collecting the blood there. “Mm.” she moaned shortly, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “You do taste delicious. Kinda like...an aged scotch, _lust_ ,” she grinned, because she hadn't had to influence that into him. “...and something else. What did you have for lunch?”

He didn't answer her, and she shrugged. She searched her pockets and came up with three crumpled tissues and a few dimes and quarters; her phone was tucked into her bra, safe and sound. She used the tissues to wipe up some of the blood that had trickled down his chest, humming idly. She calmly inspected his bite mark next, not knowing if she should cringe or smirk at the condition this poor boy's throat was in. “Ooh,” she chuckled. “I got you good, didn't I? Sorry 'bout that; I was really hungry.”

His eyes were closed, and she would have thought he had fallen asleep but for his erratic heartbeat. Instead of using the tissues again, she leaned in and lapped up the blood from the side of his neck, her tongue digging into his wound as her saliva healed it. He shivered.

“Not much of a talker now, are you?” she whispered, eyes hooded, slinking up to his ear like a snake. Elena suddenly realized she didn't even remember his name. “What was your name again, sweetheart?” Still with that quiet, husky tone.

He groaned; she knew he was disoriented. His eyes opened into slits. “Jason.”

“ _Jason,_ ” she emphasized, finally pulling back and straightening his collar. She buttoned up his long sleeved button down, easily placing her hands flat against his chest, like a housewife sending her husband off to work. She stared right into those pretty, calming eyes. “Here's what I want you to do; I want you to wake up a little bit, go get yourself a nice, _caffeinated_ beverage, then go home and sleep it off. You won't remember that I fed off of you; all you'll remember is that we went out back, had a _hot_ little make-out session, you gave me your number, and then you left. You never even got my name. Okay?”

Jason nodded mechanically. She nodded back at him, satisfied, and leaned up and kissed him on the mouth, long and hard. His mouth tasted like cigarettes poorly covered by spearmint, and she resisted the urge to cringe. “Ah...” he groaned regrettably, pulling reluctantly back. “I'd love to continue this; believe me, I'd _really_ love to continue this, but I have a lot to do tonight and....” He looked lost for a second. “And I really need to go get a coffee.” He shook his head with a huff, slightly befuddled.

She just smiled at him, playing her part. He leaned in and gave her a hesitant peck on the cheek, which may have been sweet or endearing if he wasn't just a snack to her. “But I, uh, I gave you my number, right?”

_No. Thank God._

“Yeah, of course.” She grinned up at him, dazzlingly. “And I'll call you.”

_Not really._

“Okay, well...” he chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. He started to back away, grinning. The further his long legs carted him away from her, the more confidence he seemed to gain, and as he disappeared around the corner, walking backwards, he winked with a smirking grin that reminded her of someone else. “Maybe I'll see you around, Mystery Girl!” he shouted back to her. He spun around on his heel and sauntered away, the traumatizing experience so easily gone from his mind.

Elena scoffed out loud, shaking her head. Boy, did she wish she had it that easy still.

///////

“Crap. I can't believe I missed this.”

Dean was pulled out of his somewhat melancholic reverie by Sam's disbelieving voice. When he looked up, he was sure his thoughts were projected clearly across his face. He rubbed his hands over his knees, feeling weary. “What?”

Sam pointed emphatically at a spot on the paper, his hair bouncing as he turned his head to Dean. “This house on Elm: the mother was killed, the baby grabbed, but Daddy wasn't living in the house at the time so he's still alive.” the words spilled from his mouth in a hurried stream, his tone sounding disbelieving and slightly bitter.

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly, almost asking Sam what he wanted _him_ to do about it, but that was ridiculous. _Of course_ they were going to work together on this case, like old times, like _always._

So why did he feel so-for lack of a better term- _bitchy_ about working a case with his own brother? Dean wondered frustratedly. Something just wasn't right.

Dean imagined stuffing his thoughts into a box and pushing it to somewhere in the back of his mind. These kinds of thoughts were to be saved for late at night, laying on a cheap and unfamiliar mattress when he couldn't sleep.

“What do you say we go have a chat?” Sam asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. Dean pushed up from the bed with a sigh, idly scratching his arm. Sam stood along with him, his gangly limbs unfolding almost cautiously.

“I say let's.”

Dean and Sam stepped towards the door, and froze in their spots, remembering at the same moment the presence of the small, defenseless human in the room, eliciting a disappointed sigh from both boys.

Sam pressed his lips together. “You go.”

Dean blinked, wondering why Sam would offer to stay back at the hotel with a drooling infant instead of going on an interrogation mission. Maybe he felt bad about being a dick and not contacting him for so long, and was trying to make it up to him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, man, I'm sure. Besides, you know you're better at interrogations than I am.” Sam responded with a light tone.

Dean knew that wasn't true. Sam was the one that was better at interrogations; with his understanding nods and his sympathetic puppy dog eyes, he could pull the truth right out of someone. But outwardly, he just chuckled and nodded, figuring Sam was trying to be nice.

“Don't forget it, either. Oh, uh, hey man, can I borrow your dream car? 'Lena took the friggin' Impala to go God knows where.” He added with a slightly annoyed roll of his eyes. He hoped Sam saw the redness seeping through his cheeks as something more like anger at Elena, rather than what it actually was.

Sam's face abruptly morphed into something overall unpleasant to look at with the mention of Elena, but, wordlessly, he dug his keys out of his pocket, tossing them through the air to Dean.

“Okay. Be back later.”

“Yeah.”

Dean strode to the door, his strides long and quick, in a hurry to leave. The door opened and closed, and he was gone, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the hotel room, alone except for the baby gurgling into the otherwise silent room.

This couldn't go too bad, right?

////////

The first thing Sam did was get to work putting together the flimsy, cheap excuse for a crib they'd gotten on sale at Walmart. Dean had taken one look at the sign for the “Valu Mart” that Elena had recommended and demanded Sam drive them to somewhere with a better name. Luckily, the Walmart had been right up the street, and had better deals than that of a grocery store, anyway. Not that either of them should've been concerned with the pricing either way, since all of their cash came from poker games and credit card scams.

Whatever.

Sam had just finished putting the crib together, rocking it back on its flimsy legs to test its stability, when he heard an uncomfortably familiar keening shriek from behind him. Jumping slightly, he turned, apprehension seeping from his features. He'd not been apprehensive about much since his trip back from Hell, and he wondered why it was that a simple baby having a tantrum could put this much fear in him.

He moved slowly toward the bed where the baby was lying, ripping the package from the store open and grabbing a diaper from it as an afterthought. He hovered cautiously over the bed, almost unconsciously baring his teeth slightly in displeasure. Wait, was he not supposed to do that? Wasn't that considered a sign of aggression with animals? What if it was the same with babies, too?

Just as he snapped his lips closed over his teeth, the baby startled him, its face turning the reddest red he'd ever seen. And, God, that kid's vocal chords would never work the same way, with the way he was screaming, spit gurgling loudly in the back of his throat. “What! What is it with you, did you poop yourself or something?! What could _possibly_ make you this upset? It's irrational!” Sam yelled, thinking maybe fighting fire with fire would work.

It didn't. If possible, the baby screamed _louder,_ and Sam strode quickly away. What was he supposed to do? He didn't know anything about babies or what shut them up, and surely everyone in the entire building could hear it screaming; the sound was deafening.

What good was that vampire to them, anyway? Sure, she'd acted like she knew what to do, and Dean had called her to _help them_ , not just write them a list and leave. She could've done that over the phone.

Sam went into the kitchen, reaching for the bottle of scotch, which probably wasn't a good idea, but he didn't actually care. But when he reached to pick the bottle up, he saw that there was a piece of notebook paper sticking out from under it, neat handwriting taking up the entire page with bullet points. Neither Dean's or his own handwriting looked anything like the neat lettering on this page, so that left only one other culprit: Elena.

Picking it up and scanning it with his eyes, Sam saw it was titled sarcastically “Ways For Oblivious People To Babysit An Infant (Instead Of Reaching For The Scotch)”. He scoffed out loud, already extremely annoyed. Not everyone was some professional Super Nanny, so she could just shut up.

 _Rule numero uno:,_ the paper read. _NEVER yell back at the baby if it's screaming. You'll just cause the kid to feel even more stress and he'll cry even louder._

“What?” Sam hissed aloud to himself. Of course, the first thing on the list would be telling him specifically _not_ do what he'd just done. Oh, well.

_Rule two: Of course, if the baby is crying, check to see if the diaper needs changing. If you do change the diaper, ALWAYS USE WIPES before putting on a fresh one. I really hope you already knew that._

And so on, and so on. There was at least one offending or sarcastic comment for each—admittedly helpful—piece of advice. But Sam guessed that might as well be expected with someone like Elena.

So, apprehensively, he followed her instructions, figuring it was worth a try to make the thing shut the fuck up, and was a somewhat productive use of his time. Like ripping off a band-aid. It was just like ripping off a band-aid, right? Ridiculous. He was being so ridiculous right now.

Watchfully, Sam stepped forward, and hovered over the baby again, this time with the new and useful information stowed at the forefront of his brain. He neatly folded the piece of paper that was clutched in his hand and slid it securely into his front pocket.

In the end, Sam had to hold the thing down to get its diaper off—which was unbelievably heavy with the baby's pee—but once he had it cleaned up, (and, yes, wiped off) the baby started laughing, trying to avoid his hands when Sam reached to put a fresh diaper on him. The baby's face was pink with glee, almost bare gums on display in an adorable grin, playfully swatting at him whenever he came near—Sam knew he should find that adorable. He should be tickled pink by the kid's behavior, but he wasn't. He couldn't feel anything at all really, which was odd—not happiness or rage or anything of the sort. His emotions were simply limited to things such as lust, annoyance, and the occasional bout of dark humor ever since he'd gotten back from hell, which he tried not to find suspicious. It was most likely just something like PTSD, he rationalized. Nothing that wouldn't fade away with time.

“Fine, whatever, I give up!” Sam grunted in annoyance, stepping back from the baby with diaper in hand. If the kid didn't want to wear pants, he obviously wasn't going to wear pants unless he was tranquilized or something, but Sam was so not going to put that much effort into this baby. Instead, Sam grabbed the baby by the armpits, something he thought must be very uncomfortable, but paid it no mind, and carried it awkwardly across the room to the tedious looking crib, setting him down abruptly.

Feeling like he needed a full body cleanse, Sam hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and washing his hands with an unnecessary fervor. Maybe it was offensive to the kid, that Sam could handle demon guts, and torture, and blood, but not a little baby pee.

Sooner than he could blink, he was thrown back into the real world when his phone rang, another ear-splitting round of sobs starting up again in the next room at the same time. Sighing he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, struggling slightly with the small object due to his large hands. “Yeah?” he answered, knowing it was Dean. Was that the way he was supposed to answer the phone? Is that how he did it before he went to Hell? How did he not remember the correct way to answer a damn phone?

“Hey,” Dean replied, sounding rushed. “Just talked to the Dad, he checks out.” Sam nodded, even though he knew Dean couldn't see him. As he entered the room and looked toward the crib, his brows furrowed. Well, that certainly wasn't right. There was a thick, gooey red matter above and all around the crib, and the kid was still screaming non-stop.

“But get this. The baby?” Dean said, sounding both sick and excited at the same time.

“Uh-huh?” Sam halfheartedly encouraged, knowing already what Dean was going to say as he stood over the crib, looking down at the very dirty, very naked, and very _different_ baby lying in the crib. Half in a daze, Sam picked him up by the armpits again, holding him away from his face with disgust ridden fascination, though he was grinning all the same.

“I think the shape-shifter is the father!” Dean finished breathlessly.

“You think?” Sam laughed.

Sam lost his jovial demeanor once he realized something:

Did this mean he'd have to change the diaper _again_?

 


	11. Hey Batta Batta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this, and I apologize for any plot mistakes-I've been changing some things lately, so just go along with it. I made this chapter EXTRA long, and experimented with going a little deeper into the characters' lives. Let me know what you think!

They pulled into the parking lot of the motel at the same time, the tires of Sam's car screeching offensively against the asphalt. Sitting in the Impala with the engine still running, she watched Dean jump out of the car, looking rather hufffy as soon as he saw her. They stared at each other through the windshield of the Impala for what seemed like an hour, her brown eyes meeting his pretty glass-like green ones. She noticed how the sun made them sparkle, even with his furrowed brow throwing a shadow over his features. Dean broke away from her gaze, and started inspecting Baby intently, even taking the corner of his suit jacket and wiping it over what must have been a smudge on the grille.

 _Welp,_ she thought, grudgingly taking the key from the ignition, _it's now or never. Can't just awkwardly sit here forever._

She meant to tease him as she drug herself from the car, make him blush or fidget a little bit. But all that came out was:

“Why in hell are you driving _that_ piece of crap?”

She almost regretted taking the Impala now; she'd rather he rent one of those square looking eco-crap cars than drive Sam's cheaply painted hunk of plastic. He was better than that!

Dean looked flabbergasted for a second before he threw his arms up in the air. “Well, it seems some inconsiderate vampire just _took_ my car, so I had no choice, did I? Sorry if I offended your royal Highness, but the bike rental store was closed, and I didn't think walking there was such a great idea.” he pointedly stuck out his armpit at her. “Pit stains don't look so good when pretending to be a big-wig FBI agent!”

He let his arms fall to his sides with a _slap,_ staring at her in defiance. She almost giggled, and was sure the mirth showed in her eyes. Even when she was a child, and had first learned that torturing her little brother was a blast, she had never been able to tell a convincing apology when she got caught scaring the wits out of Jeremy. She still remembered “confiding in him” that earwigs were actually tick-like bugs that embedded themselves into the ears of annoying little brothers, at the command of the superior older sister, of course. She'd held onto that one for days. There was always that little sparkle in her deep brown eyes, that little hint of a smirk tugging up her lips, and her parents always called her out on it, laughing at their little trouble maker all the same. She wasn't surprised to feel that recurring tug at her heart now as she stood in front of Dean, the one that was but a subtle reminder of the pain she'd suffered.

“Yeah, well—” Elena's voice was considerably softer as she went to speak again, maybe even to apologize for taking Dean's car without permission—when she heard it. The sounds of struggle, coming from somewhere along the row of dingy motel rooms—a masculine voice cursing, the sound of a table or lamp of some sort being knocked into the wall with force, an inhuman growl of frustration. Elena narrowed down the sound within seconds, her training from her frequent midnight hunts coming in handy. Her eyes scanned slowly along the still row of motel rooms, the sun obscuring the edges of her vision.

Room 138....no. Room 139 sounded vacant and silent, as did room number 140. But, room number _141,_ on the other hand...

“Dean, do you have your room key?” she abruptly asked, already heading to the back of the Impala and popping open the trunk with a creak of its hinges. Dean stayed where he was standing, completely baffled by Elena's sudden change of pace. He was still standing with his hand on his cocked-to-the-side hip, lost in the traces of their argument.

“What?”

Picking her weapon of choice quickly—a shining machete that glimmered lethally off the light of the day—she emerged from the back of the car, almost slamming the trunk back closed as an afterthought. “Well, hand it over then!” she snapped at Dean, as if he were dull and brainless for not possessing the ability to read her mind. Internally sighing, Dean fished the card quickly out of the back pocket of his worn blue jeans, and held it out towards her between two callused fingers. He'd gotten almost completely accustomed to Elena's quick, split-second decisions, which were almost always due to her advantage of being able to hear and see and sense things that Dean himself couldn't. She kept a reasonably human pace as she ran towards the motel, which Dean was thankful for. Otherwise he'd be left standing helplessly useless in the middle of a parking lot, not even knowing which way she'd gone. And the one emotion Dean loathed feeling in reference to himself, was useless. Damn preternatural creatures and their speed.

Not surprisingly, she led them to their own motel room. Elena swiped the key card quickly, even though Dean knew she could have easily (and probably with much more satisfaction to herself) broken the door handle off, or maybe kicked the door in with a mere tap of her heel. How courteous of her. Dean wondered if she'd learned those types of manners at her privileged-life cotillion classes as a child of the founding families back in Ye Old Mystic Falls.

The door flung the rest of the way open with a kick Elena just couldn't resist. It was strange, she thought, as she often did when encountering different monsters besides herself. She'd not yet encountered a shape-shifter until now, unless werewolves counted for something. For its heartbeat, and its appearance—everything apparent about it, really—Elena would have said this monster was not a monster, but a human. But for the strange, instinctual feeling of _wrongness,_ that little part of her that clucked its tongue and shook its head when she registered the shape-shifter's supposed humanity, kept her from believing it. The shifter was in the form of a sandy-haired, young policeman, and had Sam cornered on the floor near the bed, half kneeling there, and looking furious.

Elena saw the shifter turn towards the baby—the noticeably _not so white anymore_ baby— (she'd have to ask Sam about that) and she flew. Elena landed directly behind him, and decided she needed to have just a little fun with this. She was unnoticed by him, though Sam's blatant, overdone gawking at her made it quite obvious, so she tapped the shifter lightly on the shoulder, twice. _Tap tap._

As he turned, she slid around on his other side, and by the time his head had turned back around, she was standing in front of him, blocking his view of Sam. Elena gave a wolfish grin. “Hiya, there!” she exclaimed in her tour guide voice, and had to restrain herself from bursting out in a fit of guffaws when the shifter's eyes flared, startled, and he took a small, instinctual step back.

“What are you looking for today?” She continued in her chipper tone, then cupped a hand around one side of her mouth, giving a conspiratorial whisper, the pitch of her voice more normal. “Wrong answers include things such as 'baby', 'revenge', and....well, that's about it, really.” She shrugged.

“Elena!” She heard a hiss, and looked over the monster's shoulder at Dean, who was glaring at her. She always did this, drug out the kill to make room for her witty comments. But what Dean didn't seem to get—which he really should since he'd been a hunter all his life—was that she was mostly taunting them, not only for her own satisfaction, but to get a reaction, make them blab. It didn't matter if they weren't human and didn't have human instincts—nothing, monster or human, liked to be made fun of, and with their split-second agitation, they usually spouted off _something_ of importance.

Or maybe it just came from years of watching Damon defend her, his body defensively shielding hers, his stubborn voice never afraid to insult the enemy.

There was that pang again.

“That child needs to be with his father.” The shifter's voice brought her back into the moment. It had a strangely deep voice, and it almost reminded her of Castiel's voice when she had first met him. Too deep and almost robotic, like the essence contained there was inhabiting the wrong body.

“Well, no offense, but you don't really seem like father material.” She taunted, tightening her grip on the machete at her side. She wondered if he'd noticed it yet.

“Anger issues and all.” She elaborated. "Makes for a very traumatizing childhood.”

She heard Sam scoff behind her.

“I'm not just talking about me, I'm talking about _our_ father.” The shifter seethed with a strange sort of victory in his eyes that she didn't like.

 _Gotcha,_ she thought. But what exactly did he mean?

Fed up with her, the thing moved forward towards the baby, trying to push past her. She'd learned about shifters before though, and as far as she knew, they only possessed the strength of whatever form they were in at the time. And this one was only in the form of a human police officer. She brought the machete up and waved it near to his face when he got too close. “Ah, ah. I don't know if you know this about me, but I happen to have a _very_ strong swing.”

Apparently, the shifter didn't care, and moved to abrasively shove past her, jostling her shoulder. “Three mere humans holding sharp objects are not going to stop me.” he declared confidently, moving for the baby. Her eyes zeroed in on him, and she felt blind rage build up in her, surely more a side effect of her heightened emotions than actual offense.

Her voice was falsely calm and agreeable when she spoke next. “Alright, if you insist, but just one more thing...” She trailed off.

“Hey, batta batta,” she heard Dean expectantly mutter from behind her somewhere, but she didn't care to look. All she cared about right now was the shifter.

The thing turned, almost lazily, as if he thought he had won. She smirked, looking cold and furious at the same time. “I'm _not_ human.”

_Swing._

Sam was lucky that he'd already gotten up and moved to the other side of the room, or else he could've been a direct target. Elena spun the machete out, comparing it dementedly to a boomerang from the way it sliced with clean satisfaction through the air, and embedded itself deeply into the shifter's neck. She'd thrown the machete so hard, that even when it caught on his neck, it kept going, not losing momentum until it stuck deep into the opposite wall, the head still atop it, wide eyes and open mouth an expression permanently stuck to its features. The uniformed body fell uselessly and eerily to the floor, blood pouring from the open wound into huge scarlet puddles on the floor.

Much better.

Sam looked blankly on from the side of the room, the only moved part of his expression being his raised eyebrows. He whistled, which Elena took as the closest thing to praise she'd ever get from him.

“Ha!” Dean exclaimed, with a giddiness she hadn't heard in his voice in so long that she found herself longing for it, wanting to make him laugh again. He was somehow already holding the baby cradled in his arms, which made for the most adorable sight she'd ever seen.

 _Oh God—no. Just—stop thinking that way about him, stop seeing him like that_ , Elena internally chastised herself.

He swayed slightly from side to side in his glee. “Now that's what I call action, right? You'd be great on the Cullen's baseball team!” he added, completely serious, as if he'd just realized it. She wasn't even going to acknowledge that, or take the energy to ask how he knew about “the Cullen's baseball team”. She'd always known Dean had a guilty pleasure for all things vampire. Elena wondered how she could use that particular...kink of his, in the future—

_No!_

“You're welcome, by the way, for totally saving your pathetic ass, all huddled in a corner and shit.” She snapped, turning to Sam.

Surprisingly, she didn't receive a glare, or anything like it. Sam's mouth quirked up, almost like a smile of thanks. “Yeah, thank you.” He uttered easily, looking her in the eyes fleetingly, before looking around the room, and at the splattered blood on the wall, in distaste.

Seriously? _Thank you?_ There was definitely something off about him; she'd have to keep an eye on him, in case he tried sneaking up on her with a stake. Did he know about that yet?

“No problem...” she trailed off warily, looking at Dean, who wasn't even paying attention to them, and was instead trying to entertain the baby and keep it from crying. She had her answer now, as to why the baby was suddenly an entirely different race. The baby was a shape-shifter, a monster child. Couldn't it just change the color of its eyes or something instead, though? What if they lost it in a grocery store or something and couldn't find him? _He_ could turn himself into a _she_ if he really felt like it.

“So, we should probably split before any more come for us, huh?” Elena asked, and noticed Sam's lack of protest concerning Elena including herself in the “we”.

“Yeah, but what are we supposed to do with the kid?” Dean asked, quietly. He'd just gotten the baby to sleep, and it was conked out in his arms. “We can't just drop it off at an orphanage. They might get upset when it turns Asian.”

Elena had the brief thought of including her Mystic Falls Family in their predicament. Caroline couldn't have a kid of her own, maybe she'd want a shape-shifter one; it sure would be easier to convince it that Tyler was its father.

Elena hadn't thought of anyone in Mystic Falls for months up until now.

Dammit.

“Well—” Elena was about to make some smartass comment, maybe about dropping the kid on the side of the highway, or better yet, leaving it on the door step of a nunnery, and watching from the bushes as the nuns have freak-attacks when the kid morphs its shape. Elena almost laughed aloud when she thought of the way they would recoil when the shifter's meatsuit literally exploded on them.

Maybe she was getting just a bit too twisted, Elena thought to herself.

Sam cut her off though, before she could speak up, and ah, _there_ it was. He was glaring at her again, as if she hadn't saved his ass only a few minutes prior. She rolled her eyes at him pointedly.

“Dean,” he directly spoke to his brother, not even looking in her direction. _Oh, what a wuss,_ she thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes again, maybe all the way out of her head and onto the floor this time. And then she could just step on them. Oh yes. That would be much better than this.

“I actually, uh, I met up with some hunters...recently. They're uh, actually, related to us, as crazy as that sounds. Cousins and stuff. Mom's side.”

Dean stopped the rocking motion he'd been maintaining to keep the baby calm. “I'm sorry,” he began, his nose curling up in that way it did when he was partly confused, but mostly angry.

 _Ooh, Sam's in for some shit._ Elena laughed to herself, an exhalation of breath so quiet that neither of the brothers even heard it.

“Do you mean to say you've been hanging around mom's relatives all this time—which you _lied_ to me about, by the way—and you decide to uncover that particular secret now?” Elena sighed dramatically and flopped face-up on the bed, spreading her limbs starfish style, waiting for their little tiff to be over with.

“Dean, I didn't _lie—”_

“Oh yeah? Well then what was that whole spiel about being 'on your own' this whole time? Huh? Remember that?” Elena started humming under her breath.

“Look, guys,” she interrupted. This was gonna get heated fast. “Can't we just carry this conversation on later? I'm not in the mood to fight another shape-shifter.”

“And who said that _you're_ coming?” Sam spat.

Dean seemed to have cooled considerably at her interference, and took a deep breath. “Stop bein' such a crybaby, Sam.” He defended.

“And 'Lena's right, we need to get going. I'm guessing you didn't mention these 'relatives' for no reason, so we'll follow you in the Impala, you lead the way.” He finished, tone clipped.

Elena swore she saw Sam's shoulders slump, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Dean held out Sam's keys and watched as his brother grabbed them from his hand. “Don't take off yet.” Dean said. “We're gonna have to get the car seat from your car.”

Sam nodded silently and walked—almost stomped—out the door. Elena was almost impressed Sam had remembered to get a car seat for the kid, even before her helpful little tips. She raised her eyebrows at Dean once Sam had left and walked towards him, taking the baby out of his arms and situating it somewhere between her breast and her hip without question. He gave her a thankful look and shook out his tired arms.

It felt weird to be holding a baby again. She hadn't held one in what felt like ages; since before her parents had run off the bridge, actually. She suspected kids sensed her vampirism now, as did animals, and both were instinctively wary of her. The baby shifter held in her arms now, though, nudged his head into the hollow of her throat and curled his small fist into her hair, seeming to settle down for a nap. She let her cheek rest ever so lightly against the baby's head in response.

Huh. Maybe not so repulsive to babies.

“Sorry if you didn't want the kid riding with us,” Dean said, looking up. He paused for the smallest of moments when he saw the sight in front of him. Elena swore she saw his eyes soften, before he moved on with what he was saying. “I figure Sam has no idea what to do with the baby, and if it starts freaking out or something you'll know what to do better than either of us two idiots. Heh.” He chuckled nervously, rubbing his hands together to keep from standing idle.

He paused and the look on his face molded into something different. “Uh, 'Lena,” he began, looking down and rubbing at his neck. “you—I mean, you still want to stay with me—well, I mean, _hunt_ with us, right? I know Sam isn't really your favorite person and I don't know what's got his panties stuck up his ass, but he's usually someone you'd like, and maybe if you give him some time to warm up to you—I don't know, I just wonder if you're gonna stay now, since it's...different.” He sounded pleading. She hadn't really ever heard Dean sound like that before.

Elena wondered what exactly he meant by that last part: different. Was it possible he was talking partly about the incident earlier?

Ah, fuck it. It seemed they were getting it all out in the open; no better time to _not_ be a sarcastic asshole. So, she spoke honestly.

“Dean, relax.” She chuckled softly, and oh God, she couldn't believe how relieving it felt to let her lips form something other than a sardonic smirk. She allowed them to curl up into a small, soft smile, and let the walls down from in front of her eyes, showing him she was sincere. “I'm not going anywhere. Where else would I go, anyway? You're all I have right now.”

She knew it sounded cheesy, but it was true. She wasn't about to go back to Mystic Falls, and besides even if she did, none of them would want her back after some of the emotionless stunts she'd pulled. She thought of Damon, maybe as an exception, but all she could see was him in his bed, holding hands, _kissing_ with some other girl. He had to have moved on by now, right? It struck lightning on her heart.

Dean looked torn down, his eyes reflecting an almost sadness—not pity, she was pleased to see. “Elena that's—”

“And, you know, while I'm at it I might as well say that I'm sorry,” she kept on as if he hadn't spoken. “For, well, being such an ass, and a cold-hearted bitch sometimes. And,” this part was going to be hard to choke out. They'd been ignoring it all day. “I'm sorry for whatever it was I thought I was doing earlier with the—you know, stunt I pulled before I took the car. I don't know what I was doing. Sorry.” She sputtered out.

Dean didn't know how to respond. He hadn't seen this side of Elena in so long that it left him frozen, speechless. Was it possible that she wasn't too broken to come back to who she had been? God, he hoped so.

He looked into her eyes, and hoped she saw the deeper feelings behind his. Feelings his mind couldn't seem to process into words. Instead of trying to speak, maneuvering carefully so as not to crush the baby in her arms, Dean slowly leaned forward and embraced her. His arms settled themselves around her lower waist, and—unfreezing from her general shock—she used the one arm not holding the baby to hug him back tightly. She hadn't been hugged in so long, and it felt good to settle into his arms, and on impulse she nuzzled her head into his, the short hairs at the nape of his neck tickling her. She knew he understood everything, even without words.“It's all okay, 'Lena.” he barely whispered into her ear, using the endearing nickname that she had missed.

She knew what he really meant in saying that it was all okay—he didn't mean she was just magically going to be okay because he said so, or that what had happened in the past wasn't all that bad—no, Dean had been through too much to believe that. What he meant was that he would be there, that he _was_ there to _make_ her okay.

Elena pressed her body against him tightly, savoring the hug for all it was worth. “Thanks, Dean.” she choked out in response. They stood in their embrace far longer than was appropriate for a hug between friends, though neither of them fully realized it. Dean's eyes eventually closed and one of his hands came to hold her head against his shoulder. He felt blissful.

Until—

Dean's eyes snapped open and he took a wild step back when he heard the warning sound, be he was too late. The baby made a strange rumbling/gurgling noise in the back of its throat before there was suddenly a disgusting, greenish-white paste covering his right shoulder.

Puke. Great. Just fantastic.

He heard the sound of a choked off laugh and looked up to see Elena grinning behind her hand. Her body twitched with the repressed instinct of her laughter, and a few obnoxious giggles escaped her despite her efforts. He glared at her angrily, which only made her laugh harder. The baby on her hip blinked a few times, as if dazed, before joining Elena's laughter with a toothless, squint-eyed grin.

Wow, that was cute. They both made such an adorable picture—Elena with her hair covering half of her face, eyes sparkling in a way he hadn't seen since they were kids, and the baby clinging to her affectionately and losing its shit at the sight of Dean—that he almost forgave the little traitors.

Almost.

Sam's annoyed voice however, asking “what was taking so damn long” in that hilarious bitchy tone he got when he was annoyed, broke him of his glare. Something about the entire situation made him burst into raucous laughter, doubling over and catching himself on his knees.

And there, in a dingy motel room, the background being a severed head stuck in the wall, Dean felt as he hadn't felt in as long as he could remember.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Meet N' Greet

**Oh my God, guys, I know; it's been way too long. But I've been working on school stuff and personal stuff, _and_ I've been working on my first serious work of independent fiction, meaning....I'm writing a novel! It'll be a long and grueling process, I'm sure, but it's been promising thus far! So, I am so sorry if this isn't my best writing. I'll try to focus more on this once I get a lull in everything else going on. Enjoy; please leave reviews!**

Since she'd turned, Elena's senses had become considerably heightened. So, she could smell the salt on someone's skin after they'd been crying, or detect the smell of stress—which, incidentally, she smelled on Dean almost constantly. The man was much more anxious about things than he let on. But it wasn't anxiety she smelled on him now.

Elena was overcome by the stench of his contentedness; his actual _genuine_ happiness. He was practically _reeking_ of oxytocin. She glanced at him from where she sat in the passenger seat of the Impala and saw the little hidden quirk of his lips. Elena couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Dean without the presence of frown lines around his mouth, and she'd forgotten how endearing his boyish smile was to her, the way it inspired butterflies in her stomach sometimes. Damn, she'd had such a _huge_ crush on him when she was a kid! And that was when she was, what, thirteen years old? But she still recognized the feeling this many years later.

Dean chuckled lightly. “What're you smiling about?” he asked, a smile of his own going full-blown on his face as he turned to glance at her before diverting his eyes back to the road.

“Was I?” Elena murmured, strictly forcing her lips into a neutral line. Shit. She didn't want to show too much emotion; she wasn't even used to feeling very much emotion anymore. It was a weird feeling to deny her own smile for no reason.

“Yeah, you were.” Dean teased, and from the look on his face, he would've tickled her if his hands weren't occupied with the wheel, just to make her smile again. God, how long had it been since she'd seen him playful like this? It was disorienting to be greeted by those bright green and giddy looking eyes of his, gleaming in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Elena wasn't sure how to respond to this side of him, so she simply leaned forward and turned the volume of the radio up a few notches, turning to stare out the side window with her arms folded over her chest. They were right behind Sam's car, following him to the mysterious other side of the brothers' family, the Campbells, who she couldn't help but compare to the soup brand in her mind. She idly wondered if they did, in fact, taste like chicken noodle soup out of a can. Though, by the smell of both brothers' blood, _they_ sure would taste more heavenly than that of canned and processed soup.

_Dammit!_ Elena thought, chastising herself. She caught herself doing that sometimes, nonchalantly associating her close human  _friends—_ like Dean—with that of a tasty meal. She remembered being astounded at how good Jeremy's blood smelled, and Bonnie's, and Dr. Meredith Fell's, even! That was one of the worst parts of her being a vampire, even though it was in some sick ways also one of the best. She sickened herself with her own thoughts sometimes; it was as if her soul was split between human and monster, and she was what made up the gray area in between the two. It was torture. 

Was this it? Was she going to be mopey Elena now? Elena thought to herself frustratedly. Miss Mopey Martyr herself, long gone missing, and here to stay indefinitely. She'd forgotten how tiring it was to care so vehemently about something as small as her own unfiltered thoughts. So, she sometimes contemplated eating her closest friends and family: it happens when you're a vampire! To have those thoughts would be quite worrying if she _weren't_ a vampire, she admitted to herself. But that reasoning couldn't seem to smooth out the deep wrinkle quickly forming on her forehead. No wonder she'd been so easily exhaustible as a human; she'd cared too much.

She made a sound somewhere in between a sigh and a growl, crossing her arms tighter over her chest and impatiently shifting in her seat. She tossed her head uncomfortably until her eyes came to rest on Dean, which distracted her considerably from her other thoughts. The air of giddiness he'd developed earlier seemed to be wearing away, which made her frown deepen even further. One day, she mused resolutely, she was just going to whisk him away to some secluded island, hire a witch to put some powerful anti-tracking spell over them, and just let him have some fun. Elena was sure that they could both use a vacation. A beach resort of some sort, maybe.

Her imagination turned to something more like a fantasy; Dean in swim trunks, (she'd seen that body of his; it was unavoidable when living in the same little hotel rooms with him for a year) Dean laid out calmly on the beach, sun glasses adorning his face and tanning oil making his chest glisten (was he the type to wear tanning oil?). She thought of Dean trying passionately to deny that he very much enjoyed the fruity little drinks with paper umbrellas sticking out of the top, thought of Dean picking her up by the waist and throwing her into a big, beautiful pool before jumping in after her, thought of Dean, eyes lit up with laughter in the summer sun (oh, that was a particularly loved sight) as he grabbed her and spun her around in his arms, water slowing their movements and splashing into their eyes. She thought of Dean....kissing her—

“Elena, you okay? You're...flushed. Can vampires get flushed? Is that like, a symptom of vamp-flu or something?”

Elena stopped herself from jumping at the sound of Dean's voice. The back of his hand suddenly landed on her forehead, like a worried parent checking for a fever. She gasped, spluttering slightly in surprise as she ungracefully slapped his hand away with a flap of her arms. He scoffed in annoyance at his actions being interrupted.“Dean, I'm fine!” she protested when his hand persistently came searching for her forehead again.

She'd gotten so lost in her _daydreams_ that she'd completely zoned out from reality.

“I just...” She blinked and uselessly rearranged her clothing. Elena took a breath and focused on redirecting the conversation. “Someone took care of that murder scene we made back at the motel, right?”

“Is that what you looked so deep in thought about?” Dean asked skeptically, not waiting for her response before he continued, answering her question. “Yeah, you told Sam that he had to take care of it since you're the one who did all the work. Which you did, by the way. You were pretty badass back there, I gotta admit.” Dean said, sounding impressed. Was that a hint of pride she detected in his voice? Elena felt her face start to lose the redness it had acquired due to her daydreaming escapades. She turned her body to face him.

“Puh-leaze!” she uttered dramatically, placing a palm over her chest in mock offense. “I'm _always_ that badass, Dean; you should've gotten used to it by now.” Even as she said this, she scooted closer to him on the long front seat of the Impala, bumping his arm with hers teasingly and giving him a sly grin.

Dean glanced at her briefly, a goofy smile forcing its way onto his lips. After a moment, he chuckled and lightly shoved his shoulder into hers. A wave of his scent—a type of pleasant musk, and the faint whiff of soap still left on his skin from when he'd last showered—rushed over her, and she felt dizzy. As much as Elena wanted to stay where she was, maybe lean against his shoulder and inhale his scent until she fell asleep—that wasn't a good idea—so she scooted subtly back to her side of the seat, drawing an invisible barrier between them.

Oh, what a mess this was turning out to be.

Elena sighed, deciding right then and there that she was going to banish these angst-ridden pining-for-my-Romeo thoughts—at least until the sun had fallen beneath the horizon and she could comfort herself with the relative silence of a hotel room in the dead of night.

She threw her arm over the back of the front seat, craning her neck to look at the baby strapped up tight in his car-seat. Bobby John (as they'd decided to call him, instead of just “the baby”) sat quietly, blinking curiously at his surroundings. They'd stopped at a nearby Target to get the kid something to wear, (he'd ruined the _one_ outfit Sam and Dean had bought from the store by....well, shape shifting out of it) and Elena might have gotten a little excited at the prospect of being able to pick out the baby clothes for herself. She was sure it had been a funny sight; a teenage girl flitting around the aisles of the baby clothes section of Target, flanked by two gruff, ridiculously attractive middle-aged men, one of which was 6'4” and was glaring at her with resigned detestation; plus a baby clad in nothing but a diaper sat complacently in the shopping cart. She and Dean had argued over a particularly adorable teddy bear coat. Dean had protested, saying something about ruining Bobby John's potential manhood and setting a horrible precedent for what the kid would wear in the future. Elena had promptly elbowed Dean in the chest, defended that “shut up, it's cute”, and thrown it in the cart, adding it to the alarmingly fast growing infant wardrobe she'd collected. He had still insisted that they would absolutely _not_ buy the teddy bear outfit.

They'd bought it.

After an hour of listening to classic rock and changing the station when Dean wasn't paying attention, they finally pulled up behind Sam to some ramshackle old house. It was dilapidated and small, and looked like a haunted cabin that teenagers dared each other to enter. Elena wondered why Dean's relatives couldn't just pick a hotel room to stay in—though, she rationalized, they _were_ Dean's relatives, so who knew where their reasoning strategies came from. When she stepped out of the car, she was surrounded by greenery—and insects. She hadn't realized in her daze that they'd driven so far into a wooded area. Another thing that made her apprehension grow; the isolation. Her senses pricked, and Elena's body was shot through with all sorts of strange tingles—an animal on high alert. She looked across the roof of the Impala at Dean, who was standing in between the open car door and the driver's seat, as if he were still contemplating whether or not to hop back in and drive away, forgetting this whole thing. “You ready for this?” She asked him, knowing that he had to be, whether he really was or not.

“Nope.” Dean responded grimly, shutting his car door behind him and twirling his keys around his pointer finger in agitation. That was one of his nervous ticks that she'd taken note of over the years she'd known him. Elena nodded understandingly before moving to the back of the car, unstrapping the baby from his car-seat and cradling him in her arms. He was in a placid mood, and reached up to trace the outline of her face with his small, pudgy finger, smiling and giggling at her when she gently nipped his finger in response. She'd dressed him up in a shirt that read “ _I'm Awesome_ ”, and a pair of jeans, tiny tennis shoes adorning his feet.

“You are just so cute, yes you are.” She murmured mindlessly to the baby, bouncing and swaying as she approached the front of the car where Dean was standing, waiting on his brother.

Sam rummaged around in his car a few yards away, tucking a vile of something into his front shirt pocket, and moving to tuck a hunting knife into the back of his jeans. She hoped it left a nasty little cut on his asscrack. Sam noticed her sneer as he approached, and gave one right back to her. She tightened her grip on the baby in her arms unconsciously.

“Well, come on,” Dean barked, breaking the silence. “Let's go meet the fam.” There wasn't even any _fake_ enthusiasm in Dean's voice, Elena noticed, and when she looked over at him, his face was altered with something like fear. She could hear his heartbeat fluttering nervously. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was on the verge of a panic attack.

So when Sam nodded his head and turned around to lead the way, Elena took her chance, and with her free arm she reached out and grabbed Dean's clenched hand that was dangling by his side. She made quick work, un-knotting his tight fingers, and interlacing them with her own. She gave him a comforting squeeze, and when he looked up to meet her eyes with surprise, she just squeezed his hand harder and shrugged. She didn't know what this was either.

Their hands stayed interlocked until they reached the door, where they simultaneously let their hands fall back to their sides, dangling in the open air. Elena couldn't help but feel as if a piece of her puzzle had been taken away from her.

/////

“I'm back!” Sam announced drolly to the seemingly empty building. Dean thought that he could at least sound more enthusiastic about it; Sam's voice was like dulled sandpaper scraping against a chalkboard. Dean let his eyes wander a bit around the room. On a small old wooden table against the wall sat a kerosene lamp, flickering against the dullness of the room. He guessed no one wanted to bother to invest in electricity around here. Other than that, the place seemed mostly torn apart, and the smell of mildewed wood assaulted his senses more than anything else. He realized he was still standing in the doorway when Elena came up beside him. He briefly wondered why she didn't just continue on walking without him—before he realized.

She needed to be invited in.

Elena cursed, nudging at the invisible barrier with her foot. So, this wasn't just a meeting place. They lived here. “This means they must actually _own_ this place,” Elena muttered to him, too low for Sam, standing a few feet ahead of them, to hear. “Who would even bother to own a house like this, though? Especially hunters.” Dean knew the question wasn't entirely rhetorical, because he was wondering the same thing. He just shrugged, not knowing the answer yet. He was about to have to reveal one of the secrets of Elena's nature to Sam by asking him to invite Elena in, before a voice from the inside of the house cut him off.

“Yeah, just come on in!” A woman's voice shouted. It had a slight southern twang like that of Dean's mother's side of the family. Ah, one of the cousins. “Don't knock or anything.” the voice finished sarcastically. Although the statement was dripping with sarcasm, and directed at Sam, it worked like a charm. Dean looked down and watched Elena's foot wiggle forward, testing the barrier. It was gone. Elena straightened her shoulders, flicked her hair off her shoulder, and sashayed through the doorway, Dean following right behind her. Sam simply looked back at them, raising his eyebrows and grimacing, as if to say “here we go”. They all four (baby included) rounded the corner out of the entrance way, entering a room with a long oak conference table taking up the majority of its space. Standing at the head of the table, hip cocked to the side, was a dark-haired woman loaded down with gear. The woman straightened as she saw them, as if taking stance for battle.

“Sam?” she asked, a whole world of questions and accusations loaded into the one syllable. Sam held up his hands in that way that was slightly condescending, even though he meant it to be reassuring.

“Gwen,” he said, putting a name to a face for Dean and Elena. “This is Dean.” Gwen seemed to relax when she heard that, though she still eyed Elena and the baby with some interest. She swaggered across the room toward Dean, holding out her hand for him to take.

“Gwen Campbell,” she introduced herself. It felt odd to be hearing his mother's maiden name again after so long. Gwen had a strong jaw like Dean's own, and hard brown eyes that might've intimidated him if he were a weaker man. He shook her hand firmly and looked her in the face as he smiled, albeit a bit nervously. “I'm Dean, and this is—”

“By God, you have delicate features for a hunter.”

Dean whipped around to face the source of the voice. It would have been different, even funny maybe, if Gwen had said it. But, no. Dean's life just wasn't that easy. “Excuse me?”

There was a blonde young man with slicked back hair staring at him, a smirk that Dean definitely classified as “creepy” spread over his face. He held a cigar between the fingers of one hand and waved at Dean with two fingers of the other. Who even smoked cigars? Overrated rich men on yachts, and policemen from the 1940s, that was who. And apparently this guy, too. He put his cigar between his lips in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position and started sharpening a bowie knife that had been laid on the table in front of him. Dean's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. He heard Elena snort, holding in her laughter. Sam just chuckled.

“Dean, this is Christian,” Sam introduced the knife guy, because apparently Christian the Commentator didn't have it in him to do it himself. “And that's Mark.” he continued, indicating a man sitting in the corner of the room that Dean had barely noticed. Mark, also a blonde, stared Dean blankly in the eyes as he polished his handgun. Not even a nod of acknowledgment. Okay.

Creepy Christian must have sensed Dean's growing apprehension, because without a word, he stubbed out his stinking cigar on the conference table, which Dean now noticed was riddled with maps and weapons. They were planning an attack. Christian held out his hand to Dean, and after a few tentative seconds, Dean took hold of it, shaking it and releasing it as quick as he could without being rude. “And who's this pretty girl you've got with you? I'd say congratulations too, by the way, but he doesn't look like he's yours.” Christian added, nodding towards the baby in Elena's arms. Elena sniffed, stepping forward.

“Thanks for the compliment, but this pretty girl likes to be asked questions directly, instead of through her male companions. I'm Elena, by the way. I've been hunting with Dean for about the last year.”

Christian held his hands up in defense, taking a step back. When he looked back at her, Dean caught the satisfied glimmer of Elena's eyes. He shook his head. She was unbelievable, but he found himself smiling anyway. Gwen seemed amused as well. “Well, Elena,” she said, stepping forward. “It's great to meet you.” She smiled, and held out her hand for Elena to take. Elena had to shift Bobby John in her arms, but she smiled back and shook Gwen's hand.

“I have a feeling we may grow to be friends, Gwen.” Gwen gave a decisive nod, but her gaze quickly went back to the baby in Elena's arms. Her eyebrows drew together, and she looked back to Sam, whose gaze was focused in on Gwen and Elena's clasped hands.

“Maybe.” she responded to Elena. She dropped her hand. “Now, why doesn't someone let us in on what the hell's goin' on?”

Sam stepped forward and began to explain.

  
  


  
  


  
  


 

  
  


 


	13. Nighttime Appearances

**Haha...yeah. It's been a while. Sorry.**

**/**

Elena sighed, tossing her head. A sticky layer of sweat on the back of her neck made it difficult to sleep, and nothing at all seemed to be helping her to get comfortable. She sat up with a huff, pulling her hair into a tangled bun and settling on the edge of the bed. She stared across the motel room at Dean, seeing him perfectly fine through the utter darkness of the room. Not even the television had been left on, so there was nothing reflecting across the gruff planes of his face except for a sliver of moonlight peeking out from behind the curtains. His soft, pink lips were parted just enough for the urge to kiss him to overcome her, just briefly.

She shook herself, standing up from the bed and making her way towards the motel room's door as quietly and quickly as possible. She grabbed the first thing with long sleeves she saw and slipped it on over her tank top. She was slightly afraid that if she paused too long, she'd be too tempted to crawl under the covers of Dean's bed and snuggle up beside him. If only for some desperately needed comfort. She slipped out the door, key card safely tucked into her palm so that she wouldn't have to wake him to get back into the room. She found a railing to lean on, and glanced up at the flickering motel sign. Its obnoxious light was blocking out the stars, which made her frown. The Hilton's sign wouldn't block out the stars. In fact, there would be a heated balcony for her to sit and watch the stars on in a better hotel. She bet there would even be hot cocoa brought up to them on a cold night like this.

But, as Dean had rationalized, this was the closest place to where the Campbells were staying, and they needed to stay as close to them as possible for the time being. Dean said it was because they might need each others help with research, or shape shifter invasions, or some such nonsense. Elena said because it was best to keep your enemies close. She thought that behind his intense desire to have a family, Dean thought so too.

After Sam had explained to them what had been going on (including how his brother had befriended a vampire) the Campbells had taken it surprisingly well, even if they seemed colder towards her now, and warier. It was okay. They should be cautious of her. She had a funny feeling about them, as well. Speaking of Sam—she smiled—oh, the look on his face when Dean had decided to room with her, leaving Sam to get a room for himself. It had been priceless, and at the same time the fact that Dean still chose to room with her instead of with his long lost brother had her stomach doing flips.

She was still smiling smugly to herself, staring up at the moon, when a brisk breeze ruffled her hair. What had that fluttering sound been? It couldn't be—

“Hello, Elena.”

She jumped. Even with her heightened senses, his silent approach always took her off guard. Though she couldn't blame her senses for not immediately catching his presence when he quite literally appeared out of thin air. Elena turned, leaning back against the railing casually, even though she felt like either flying into his arms or punching him in the face for not coming sooner.

She smirked at him tremulously. “Hey, Castiel.”

She had met Castiel near the beginning of the year she'd spent hunting with Dean. She'd thought him crazy for screaming up at the sky, calling for “Cas, you feathery bastard!” to come and help them with the unreal onslaught of demons and ghosts and vampires ready to take them down. And when he'd appeared, all blue eyed and intense, and taken down over half of them with one big showy flash of white light...well, it was fair to say Elena had been flabbergasted, even in her emotionless state. And for a while after that, Cas had been suspicious of her, always glaring at her from across a room, or blocking her when she tried to approach someone. At first she'd figured it was because she was a vampire and he was—apparently—an Angel of the Lord. But no. It was because he was concerned for Dean, didn't know if she was trustworthy enough to be around him, knew that Dean could be vulnerable with certain people. But one day, when Dean had taken a trip to the nearby dingy fast food restaurant for dinner, Cas had popped up with a prepared interrogation for her.

“What is your relationship to Dean?”

“What are your intentions towards Dean?”

“If you don't answer honestly, I have ways of taking the truth from your mind—but it is a painful process, I must warn you.”

And things of the like.

But then he'd moved forward—to conclude the painful truth obtaining? When his fingers had brushed against her arm. He'd paused, his eyebrows furrowing, and then leaned forward and placed his open palm on the side of her face. It hadn't been a romantic touch—Elena wondered if he was even capable of such feelings—but it had been a tender one. He'd stared into her eyes with such an intensity that it made her fidget in her skin. She'd never seen someone so intent, not even the recklessly brooding Salvatore brothers. “Oh,” Castiel had murmured very quietly, his hand hovering near her cheek but not quite touching it. “Your soul, it's—so bright, so full of color. Quite vibrant.”

Elena had felt more vulnerable then than she had in months. Since before her brother had died. Since before she'd become a vampire. So of course she'd stumbled backwards away from Castiel, not coming off nearly as smooth as she intended. “Sorry bud, wrong gal. Even as a human I was too selfish to have a soul so big and bright.” she'd scoffed, really wishing she had something alcoholic to sip on so she didn't have to look at him.

But her attitude didn't faze the angel. He gave a smile—a genuine, angelic smile—and shook his head as if he'd made a wry joke to himself. “Elena Gilbert,” he'd said to himself, as if he knew her, had known her for longer than she'd been alive. She wondered exactly what he had seen in her thoughts, her memories. “After everything, you're still holding on.”

From then on, no matter how she tried to deny it, she knew she could let down her guard around Castiel. He already knew what she was inside, even if she didn't, so there wasn't any reason to pretend around him. She was confident he would keep his mouth shut about it. And so he did, as far as she knew. They'd developed a close companionship almost overnight, which had confused Dean immensely, but eventually he'd shrugged and gone along with it. There was something about Castiel—it was like his light called out to hers, and they melded around each other effortlessly. Like their souls had an instant and eternal understanding of each other, a...bond of sorts.

“How is he?” Cas asked now. She knew who he meant, but she wanted to fuck with him a little. He hadn't answered their calls in weeks.

“Which one? The one recently back from his vacation to hell, or the shorter one?”

Instead of getting angry at her snark, he bowed his head, glancing up at her through a fringe of black hair.

“I assume you know that he's back?” she asked, felt her nostrils flaring. He had to have _something_ to do with this. 

Castiel nodded, sighing morosely. “I've known for quite a while.”

Of course he had. Wasn't he the head honcho of Heaven now that God was a no-show?

“And—what? You didn't think it would be important to tell us?”

Castiel's gaze hardened, and he glared across the sidewalk at her. “Heaven has been busy, Elena. And you and Dean were happy, you were functioning. Forgive me if it wasn't my immediate concern.”

She had to admit that he was a little bit right; from what she'd already observed, Sam and Dean were enormously codependent, which wasn't necessarily a healthy thing. And she and Dean had been as happy and functioning as two tortured soul types hunting demons could be. And that overly sympathetic Elena from the past was rearing her annoying head now, for Castiel and all the shit he must have been dealing with. She sighed, stepping forward to lay a hand on his arm. “I know, Cas. I'm sorry for snapping at you, it's just—it put Dean in so much pain all the time, not having Sam. I just wish it could have stopped earlier.”

The harsh lines around his eyes softened, and he put a hand over hers and squeezed. Still in touch with human gestures, then. And he forgave easily, just like she did.

“I understand. Sometimes I fail to acknowledge emotional standings.”

She chuckled. He was so technical. “It's okay, Cas. How are things in Heaven?” Cas pulled away to lean heavily back against the motel's cement wall. There were times when they were alone that Cas seemed so human. Elena wondered if he felt that same comfortable freedom around her as she did with him. “Not well,” he admitted, his mouth twisting down. “God is nowhere to be found, and the angels are in disarray after the battle with Micheal and Lucifer. Nobody knows which rules to follow.”

“But they need rules; none of them will really accept the concept of freedom, will they?”

He nodded, his head making a scratching sound against the cement.

“Precisely. Everybody seems conflicted on whether to exile me or join me.”

“I'm sorry, Cas. But I'm sure you know where I stand on that subject, right?”

She thought at their core, most every angel other than Castiel was cold, selfish, and ruthless, (which she could respect) but only seeking Papa Holy to guide them. They couldn't even act on their own, without orders, and that was what made her sick. His mouth lifted into the faintest half smile. He sighed, sounding exasperated. “Yes, I do know that.”

Elena decided to change the subject.

“So, not that I don't generally enjoy your company, but why are you here? If Heaven's so chaotic, shouldn't you be spending all of your free time up there?”

Cas lifted himself off the wall, straightening. He brushed against the wrinkles in his trench coat, which really could use an iron. His tie was perpetually backwards, as well. At least the angelic dumbass was trying to look put together.

“I need your help with something. With a...um, a case.”

Elena lifted one eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, and he continued. “I'm not sure how, but it seems holy items are being stolen from Heaven's safes, and are being used in the mortal world.”

She felt her eyebrows shoot up, and she took a slow step forward. “How is that even possible? What are they being used to do?”

“ _I don't know._ And they're being used by incompetent humans, as far as I can tell. It's bound for disaster. The Staff of Moses was reported missing last week, and I've tracked its activity on Earth to somewhere between Ohio and Pennsylvania.”

“Wow...” she mumbled. Maybe she should have just stayed asleep. “Okay, well I'll do some research on it as soon as it hits sunrise.” she promised.

Cas nodded. “Thank you. When will you be able to take care of it?”

“Well, Cas, we're kind of busy at the moment, but as soon as I clue the guys in on it, I'm sure they won't be able to resist it. Soon.”

Cas looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. There didn't seem to be anything else to say, so Elena said “goodnight Cas” and started to slide the key card into its slot in the door. His hand grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I'd prefer that you not mention I was here.” Cas said, his eyebrows furrowed seriously. “Sam and Dean will just be angrier that I didn't come directly to them about this.”

Elena nodded grudgingly, understanding. “And they'll ask even more questions which you don't have the time to answer. I get it.”

She heard his sigh of relief, and blinked. “Thank you,” Cas said.

When Elena opened her eyes, he was gone, as if he had never been there in the first place.

 

 


	14. Animosities and Atrocities

**_A/N: Yeah, uh, I guess I'm back. Enjoy. ;)_ **

_What am I doing?_ Dean thought, hating himself. He leaned against the shower wall, the flimsy motel covering bending slightly due to his weight. He didn’t move away. He ground his teeth and banged his head against the wall, water sloshing everywhere. Damn it all to hell, what was he doing?

That morning—in fact, not even twenty minutes before—Dean had woken from his fitful night’s sleep, thinking and stressing about everything under the sun. Sam was back from Hell, his mother’s _family_ had shown up, and Sam was acting _weird_ —and then he’d shifted in bed. He’d shifted to see Elena, across the room in her own bed, all but naked wearing just a t-shirt, spread on her stomach and her hands curled under her. She had been moaning and mumbling in her sleep, pouting those full lips…when she had whispered his name. _“Dean,”_ she’d smiled, grabbing for a pillow; what he guessed, in her dreams, was his body, and snuggled her face into it with pleasure.

And that, folks, is what had fucked Dean Winchester up royally. He’d stared wide eyed and dumbfounded before hauling his ass into a cold shower. Because what had happened, what scared him was that he’d been instantly and immediately desperate to replace the pillow she’d snuggled. In _every_ part of his body. What the hell was wrong with him? It was _Elena_ ; she was practically still a kid, he’d grown up with her— _it was Elena_ , for God’s sake! He had no business feeling anything near what he’d felt for her in that moment.

But boy, had he felt it. His hand, seemingly on its own, travelled down the length of his slick chest, down his stomach, and down, and down…

There was a loud rap on the bathroom door, and it flew open before he could answer. He jolted from behind the shower curtain, as if he’d been caught. “Hey, what’s taking so long in here, pansy? Stressing over which eyeshadow to wear?” Elena snickered at her own insult.

Cursing at himself, he forced himself back into the stream of icy water. “Figured I had time to take up the hot water since you were snoring like a freight train.” He snapped back, thanking whatever still gave a shit that his voice didn’t falter.

“I don’t snore, asshole.” She muttered, and Dean could tell by her muffled voice that she had a toothbrush in her mouth.

“Oh, really?” He felt a grin tug at his lips as he rinsed his hair out. “I guess that means you were choking on your own spit then. You know you might want to get that checked out—”

Unexpectedly, a hand reached into the shower, blindly fumbling until it found purchase on his shoulder and slapped him. Dean shrieked before he could stop himself, holding the curtain closed on both ends. He listened as Elena spit in the sink and rinsed her mouth out. She laughed brightly. He hadn’t heard that in a while. “Whatever, stupid.” She dismissed. “I found a new case, hurry up.” And then the door slammed shut behind her.

Had this really been their regular routine for the last year? Dean turned the faucet off and waited for his heartbeat to stop pounding so violently against his chest.

 

 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, drying his damp hair with a towel, Elena sat—fully clothed, thank God—on the edge of his bed, eyes trained on the television. It was the news, displaying pictures of a bloody floor, and what he guessed were a victim’s family talking about their kinship to the deceased. The TV was muted. “What’s the case?” he asked.

Elena’s jaw tightened, and she turned to him. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to say something, but she just stared. Her eyes ran slowly up and down his body, her gaze unreadable. He glanced down, realizing he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans slung lower than he usually wore them. When he looked back up, Elena was focused on the TV again. What the hell?

“Some guy in Pennsylvania liquefied into a puddle of flesh and blood—out of all things the police are trying to pass it off as a viral infection. It happened right in front of his buddy too.”

“Gnarly.” Dean said, curling his lip. Spontaneously turning into a pile of mush would not be his desired method of going out. He pulled a black t-shirt over his head and headed towards the door. “I’ll go let Sam know; we’re not too far from Pennsylvania.”

As his hand landed on the door knob, Elena called out to him. “Hey!”

He turned, sparing a glance over his shoulder and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Elena gave him a smirk that sent alarm bells reverberating around his skull. What was she up to?

“Good luck next door.” She said vaguely, and waggled her eyebrows.

 _Whateve_ r, he thought, dismissing her. When he knocked on Sam’s door, there were muffled sounds on the other end. A groan, whispers, shuffling. Dean’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then the door was flung open, a scantily clad woman standing over the threshold. She wore an easy access skirt and a revealing yet expensive looking shirt. She held a stuffed money clip in her palm, a pair of black, shiny pumps dangling from her fingers. And the confident, suggestive way she looked at him…

_Oh my God._

Sam had gotten a high-class prostitute. And that explained Elena’s weird comment. She must have heard them with her creepy vamp hearing. He would make it a point later to thank her for letting him walk into that. Over the woman’s shoulder, he made eye contact with Sam, who was _actually_ doing pull ups in the center of the room, shirtless and sweating. He gave a smug twist of his lips. Well, that looked unnatural. Dean stumbled, like a dork, when the woman flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and pushed past him. She gave him a wink over her shoulder before sashaying away. He laughed awkwardly. God, awkward around a prostitute? Fantasizing about Elena? It had been too long since he’d gotten laid.

Brushing the thoughts away, he strolled into the room. Sam hopped down from the beam and walked across the room. He picked a scrap of paper off the nightstand and crumpled it, shooting it into the trash bin.

Dean shook his head as Sam stared at him, waiting. “Uh, okay, whatever. Elena found us a case in Pennsylvania. This one sounds nuts, man, some guy—”

“Liquefied. Yeah, I know, I just saw it on the news.” He scowled, as if he was upset that she beat him to it.  There was silence. Sam still just stared.

“Well, are you up for it? It’s been awhile since we’ve had something like this.” Okay, there was no mistaking it. Sam was acting a bit unusual.

“Yeah, I’ll get ready.” He sighed. His face was blanker than Dean had ever seen it.

He shook his head, going towards the door. A feeling of unease was slowly blanketing his senses. Sam muttered something behind him just as he opened the door. Dean froze, anger rippling over him in strained waves. No way he just heard that. He didn’t want to have to kick his brother’s ass.

“What did you just say?” he snapped, turning around.

Sam raised an eyebrow mockingly. He didn’t seem to have a problem repeating himself. “I said she’s an unfeeling leech, Dean. When are you gonna get your head out of your ass and realize that?”

Oh, he was fuming. No doubt Elena was sitting next door, listening to Sam put her down like she wasn’t even—wasn’t even…

Human.

“Listen, Sammy, I thought we talked about this.” He growled, fists clenching and unclenching rapidly by his sides. It was more a warning than anything else.

“Yeah, Dean, you talked about this. It doesn’t mean I agreed with you!”

They stood across from each other in a staring contest. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No, normally, Dean wouldn’t mix friendship in with any creature he would just as quickly hunt. But Elena was an exception, and Sam should have seen that, _felt_ it even. That was who Sam was; maybe Hell really had altered him into someone—something else.

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair, taking a different approach. His voice softened, though it still had the hard undertone of a scolding. “Look. I know we knew her in the past, and that makes it difficult to you. She was a sweet kid, when she was human. But that girl you knew is gone, Dean! That’s not Elena anymore. You have to realize how dangerous she is now.”

He knew she was dangerous. He’d seen her take down monsters—vampires even—within seconds. He’d seen her spattered in blood and gore, seen her fanged and hungry, had listened to the crack as she twisted someone’s neck. Had seen the feral grin as she came out of a fight. Elena Gilbert was dangerous. But so was he, so was Sam, so was _anyone_ in the right circumstance. Dean realized that he’d never once feared for his life with Elena; they protected each other, just as any other hunting team would. So screw Sam and his assumptions.

“That’s about the same thing as alienating you because you’ve been to Hell, you know that? I’ve known Elena a long time, and she’s been through some tough shit just like us. She isn’t evil, Sam. She’s one of the kindest people I know, still is. And if you got _your_ head out of _your_ ass, you might see you’ve got a lot in common with her.” He said it in a cool, low voice, his anger bleeding into the words. He hadn’t just known Elena as a human; he’d practically grown up with her. He’d looked forward to visits to Mystic Falls just to see her, to pretend like he had a normal life as he sat on the couch and watched sitcoms with her, trading witty comments back and forth. “Or at least maybe you _did_.”

As he stalked back towards the door, he heard Sam say under his breath, “She’s tricking you.”

The door slammed hard behind him.

When he walked back into their room, Elena was still sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was silent except for the sound of the AC clicking on somewhere. Elena had a look of intense concentration on her face, like she was trying to work out life’s biggest problems and was getting nowhere.

“Thank you.” She whispered. Her eyes were latched to his, their deep brown swallowing him whole. “I never would have asked you to fight with him for me.”

And that was exactly his fucking point.

“I know,” he said. “But you’re worth it, and he was wrong.”

Her head tilted to the side, and she gave him a soft, hidden smile. “Thank you.” She repeated.

He felt something inside him stir. Blinking away from her gaze, he went for his boots. After he slipped them on, Elena helped him carry the bags to the car. It was time to get a move on, no matter how much of a dick Sam was being. At least he had his own car to sulk in now.

He only felt a little guilty for being so happy that he could spend the next hours pretending Sam wasn’t there.


End file.
